1 


i 


y  <.it-'  K- 


PHANTOM    FORT-UNE. 


CHAPTER   I.         '    r' 

PENELOPE. 

People  dined  earlier  forty  years  ago  than  they  do  now.  Even 
the  salt  of  the  earth,  the  elect  of  society,  represented  by  that 
little  great  world  which  lies  within  the  narrow  circle  bounded 
by  Bryanstone  Square  on  the  north  and  by  Birdcage  walk  on 
the  south,  did  not  consider  seven  o'clock  too  early  an  hour  for 
a  dinner  party,  which  was  to  be  followed  by  rorts,  drums,  con- 
certs, conversazione,  as  the  case  might  be.  It  was  seven  o'clock 
on  a  lovely  June  evening,  and  the  Park  was  already  deserted, 
and  carriages  were  rolling  sv/iftly  along  all  those  West  End 
streets,  and  through  the  West  End  squares,  carrying  rank,  fashion, 
wealth  and  beauty,  political  influence  and  intellectual  power,  to 
the  particular  circle  in  \vhich  each  was  destined  to  shine  upon 
that  particular  evening.  Stateliest  among  London  squares, 
Grosvenor,  in  some  wise  a  wonder  to  the  universe  as  newly 
lighted  with  gas,  grave  Grosvenor,  with  its  heavy  old  Georgian 
houses,  and  pompous  entrances,  sparkled  and  shone,  not  alone 
with  the  novel  splendor  of  gas,  but  with  the  light  of  many  wax 
candles,  clustering  flower-like  in  silver  branches  and  girandoles, 
multiplying  their  flame  in  numerous  mirrors ;  and  of  all  tlie 
houses  in  that  stately  square  none  had  a  more  imposing  figuie 
than  Lord  Denyer's  dark-red  brick  mansion,  with  stone  dress- 
ings, and  the  solidity  of  an  Egyptian  mausoleum. 

Lord  Denyer  was  an  important  personage  in  the  political  and 
diplomatic  world.  He  had  been  embassador  at  Constantinople 
and  at  Paris,  and  had  now  retired  on  his  laurels,  an  influence 
still,  but  no  longer  an  active  power  in  the  machine  of  govern- 
ment. At  his  house  gathered  all  that  was  most  brilliant  in  Lon- 
don society.  To  be  seen  at  Lady  Denyer's  evening  parties  was 
the  guinea  stamp  of  social  distinction  ;  to  dine  with  Lord  Den- 
yer was  an  opening  in  life,  almost  as  valuable  as  University 
honors,  and  more  difficult  of  attainment. 


4  FIJANTOM  FORTUNE. 

It  was  during  the  quarter  of  an  hox^r  before  dinner  that  a  group 
of  persons,  mostly  of  prominent  social  position,  congregated 
round  Lord  Denyer's  hearthrug,  naturally  trending  towards  the 
social  hearth,  albeit  it  was  the  season  of  roses  and  lilies  rather 
than  of  fires,  and  the  hum  of  the  city  was  floating  m  upon  the 
breath  of  the  warm  June  evening  through  the  five  tall  windows 
which  opened  upon  Lord  Denyer's  balcony. 

The  ten  or  twelve  persons  assembled  seemed  only  a  sprink- 
ling in  the  large  lofty  room,  furnished  sparsely  with  amber  satin 
sofas,  a  pair  of  Florentine  marble  tables,  and  half  an  acre  or  so 
of  looking-glass.  Voluminous  amber  draperies  shrouded  the 
windows,  and  deadened  the  sound  of  rolling  wheels,  and  the 
voice  and  murmur  of  western  London.  The  drawing-rooms  of 
those  days  were  neither  artistic  nor  picturesque — neither  early 
English  nor  low  Dutch,  nor  Renaissance,  nor  Anglo-Japanese.  A 
stately  commonplace  distinguished  the  reception-rooms  of  the 
great  world.  Upholstery  stagnated  at  a  dead  level  of  fluted  legs, 
gikhng,  plate  glass,  and  amber  satin. 

Lady  Denyer  stood  a  little  way  in  advance  of  the  group  on 
the  hearthrug,  fanning  herself,  with  her  eye  on  the  door,  while 
she  listened  languidly  to  the  remarks  of  a  youthful  Secretary  of 
Legation,  a  sprig  of  a  lordly  tree,  upon  the  last  debut  at  Her 
Majesty's  Theater. 

*'  My  own  idea  was  that  she  screamed,'*  said  her  Ladyship. 
"  But  the  new  Rosin  as  generally  do  scream.  Why  do  we  have 
a  new  Rosin  a  every  year,  whom  nobody  ever  hears  of  after- 
wards ?  What  becomes  of  them  ?  Do  they  die,  or  do  they  set 
up  as  singing  mistresses  m  second-rate  watering-places  ?  "  haz- 
arded her  Ladyship,  with  her  eyes  always  on  the  door. 

She  was  a  large  woman  in  amethyst  satin,  and  a  gauze  turban 
with  a  diamond  aigrette,  a  splendid  jewel  which  would  not  have 
misbeseemed  the  head-gear  of  an  Indian  prince.  Lady  Denyer 
was  one  of  the  last  women  who  wore  a  turban,  and  that  Oriental 
head-dress  became  her  bgld  and  massive  features. 

Jntinitely  bored  by  the  whiskerless  attache,  who  had  entered 
upon  a  disquisition  on  the  genius  of  Rossini  as  compared  with 
this  new  man  Meyerbeer,  her  Ladyship  made  believe  to  hear, 
while  she  listened  intently  to  the  confidential  murmurs  of  the 
group  on  the  hearth-rug,  the  little  knot  of  personages  clustered 
round  Lord  Denver. 

"  Indian  mail  in  this  morning:,"  said  one.  "  nothing  else  talked 
of  at  the  clubs.  A  flagrant  case,  almost  as  bad  as  Warren 
Hastings.  Quite  clear  there  must  be  a  public  inquiry — House 
of  Lords — criminal  prosecution." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  5 

"  I  was  told,  on  very  good  authority,  that  he  has  been  re- 
called,  and  is  now  on  his  passage  home,"  said  another  man. 

Lord  Denyer  shrugged  his  shoulders,  pursed  up  his  lips  and 
looked  ineffably  wise,  a  way  he  had  when  he  knew  very  little 
about  the  subject  under  discussion. 

"  How  will  she  take  it,  do  you  think  .? "  inquired  Colonel 
Madison,  of  the  Life  Guards,  a  man  about  town  and  an  inveter- 
ate gossip,  who  knew  everybody  and  everybody's  history,  down 
to  the  very  peccadilloes  of  their  great-grandmothers. 

"  You  have  an  opportunity  of  judging,"  replied  his  Lordship, 
coolly  ;  "  she's  to  be  here  this  evening." 

"  But  do  you  think  she'll  show  ?  "  asked  the  Colonel.  "  The 
mail  must  have  brought  the  news  to  her  as  well  as  to  other  peo- 
ple— supposing  she  knew  nothing  of  it  beforehand.  She  must 
know  that  the  storm  has  burst.     Do  you  think  she'll — " 

"  Come  out  in  the  thunder  and  lightning  !  "  interrupted  Lord 
Denyer ;  "I'm  sure  she  will.  She  has  the  pride  of  Lucifer  and 
the  courage  of  a  lion.  Five  to  one  in  ponies  that  she  is  here 
before  the  clock  strikes  seven." 

"  I  think  you're  right.  I  knew  her  mother,  Constance  Tal- 
mash.  Pluck  was  a  family  characteristic  with  the  Talmashes. 
Wiched  as  devils  and  brave  as  lions  Old  Talmash,  the  grand- 
father, shot  his  valet  in  a  paroxysm  of  delirium  tremens,"  said 
Colonel  Madison.  "  She's  a  splendid  woman,  and  she  won't 
flinch.     I'd  rather  back  her  than  bet  against  her." 

"  Lady  Maulevrier  !  "  announced  the  groom  of  the  chambers, 
and  Lady  Denyer  moved  at  least  three  paces  forward  to  meet 
her  guest. 

The  lady  who  entered  with  slow  and  stately  movements  and 
proudly  balanced  head  might  have  served  as  a  model  for  Juno 
or  the  Empress  Livia.  She  was  still  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  at 
most  seven  and  twenty,  but  she  had  all  the  calm  assurance  of 
middle  age.  No  dowager,  hardened  by  the  varied  experiences 
of  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  the  great  world,  could  have  faced  soci- 
ety wath  more  perfect  coolness  and  self-possession.  She  was 
beautiful,  and  she  let  the  world  see  that  she  was  conscious  of  her 
beauty  and  the  power  that  went  along  with  it.  She  was  clever, 
and  she  used  her  cleverness  with  unfailing  tact  and  unscrupur 
lous  audacity.  She  had  won  her  place  in  the  world  as  an  ac- 
knowledged beauty  and  one  of  the  leaders  of  fashion.  Two 
years  ago  she  had  been  the  glory  and  delight  of  Anglo-Indian 
society  in  the  city  of  Madras,  ruling  that  remote  and  limited 
kingdom  with  a  despotic  power.  Then  all  of  a  sufiden  she  was 
ordered,  or  she  ordered  her  physician  to  order  her,  an  immediate 


6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

departure  from  that  perilous  climate,  and  she  came  back  to 
England  wiih  her  three-year-old  son,  two  Ayahs,  and  four  Euro- 
pean servants,  leaving  her  husband,  Lord  Maulevrier,  Governor 
of  the  Madras  Presidency,  to  finish  the  terms  of  his  service  in 
an  enforced  widowhood. 

She  returned  to  be  the  delight  of  London  society.  She  threw 
open  the  family  mansion  in  Curzon  Street  to  the  very  best  peo- 
ple, but  to  those  only.  She  went  out  a  good  deal,  but  she  was 
never  seen  ar  a  second-rate  party.  She  had  not  a  single  doubt- 
ful acquaintance  upon  her  visiting  list.  She  spent  half  of  every 
year  at  the  family  seat  on  the  Scottish  border,  was  a  miracle  of 
goodness  to  the  poor  of  her  parish,  and  taught  her  boy  his  al- 
phabet. 

Lord  Denver  came  forward  while  his  wife  and  Lady  Maule- 
vrier were  shaking  hands,  and  greeted  her  with  more  than  his 
usual  cordiality.  Colonel  Madison  watched  for  the  privilege  of 
a  recognizing  nod  from  the  divinity.  Sir  Jasper  Paulet,  a  legal 
luminary  of  the  first  brilliancy,  likely  to  be  employed  for  the 
government  if  there  should  be  an  inquiry  into  Lord  Maulevrier's 
conduct  out  yonder,  came  to  press  Lady  Maulevrier's  hand  and 
murmur  a  tender  welcome. 

She  accepted  their  friendliness  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  not 
by  the  faintest  extra  quiver  of  the  tremulous  stars  which  glittered 
in  a  circlet  above  her  raven  hair  did  she  betray  her  conscious- 
ness of  the  cloud  that  darkened  her  husband's  reputation. 
Never  had  see  appeared  gayer,  or  more  completely  satisfied 
with  herself  and  the  wor*ld  in  which  she  lived.  She  was  ready 
to  talk  about  anything  and  everything — the  newly-wedded 
queen,  and  the  fortunate  prince,  whose  existence  among  us  had 
all  the  charm  of  novelty — of  Lord  Melbourne's  declining  health 
— and  Sir  Robert  Peel's  sliding  scale — mesmerism — the  latest 
balloon  ascent — the  opera — Macready's  last  production  at  Drury 
Lane  and  Ikilwer's  new  novel. 

Seated  next  Lord  Denyer,  who  was  an  excellent  listener,  Lady 
Maulevrier's  vivacity  never  flagged  throughout  the  dinner,  hap- 
pily not  so  long  as  a  modern  banquet,  albeit  more  ponderous 
and  not  less  expensive.  From  the  turtle  to  the  pines  and  straw- 
berries, Lady  Maulevrier  held  her  host  or  her  right-hand 
neighbor  in  interested  conversation.  She  always  knew  the  par- 
ticular subjects  likely  to  interest  particular  pe^ople,  and  was  a 
good  listener  as  well  as  a  good  talker.  Her  right  hand  neigh- 
bor was  Sir  Jasper  Paulet,  who  had  been  allotted  to  the  pompous 
wife  of  a  Court  physician,  a  lady  who  had  begun  her  married  life 
in  the  outer  darkness  of  John  Street,  Bloomsbury,  with  a  house- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  7 

hold  consisting  of  a  maid-of-all-work  and  a  boy  in  buttons,  with 
an  occasional  interregnum  of  charwoman ;  and  for  whom  all 
the  length  and  breadth  of  Harley  Street  was  now  much  too 
small. 

Sir  Jasper  was  only  decently  civil  to  this  haughty  matron,  who 
on  the  strength  of  a  card  for  a  ball  or  a  concert  at  the  palace 
once  in  a  season  affected  to  be  on  the  most  intimate  terms  with 
royalty,  and  knew  every  thing  that  happened,  and  every  fluctu- 
ation of  opinion  in  that  charmed  circle.  The  great  lawyer's 
left  ear  was  listening  greedily  for  any  word  of  meaning  that 
might  fall  from  the  lips  of  Lady  Maulevrier ;  but  no  such  word 
fell.  She  talked  delightfully,  with  a  touch-and-go  vivacity  which 
is  the  highest  form  of  tiinner-table  talk,  not  dwelling  with  a 
heavy  hand  upon  any  one  subject,  but  glancing  from  theme  to 
theme  with  airy  lightness.  But  not  one  word  did  she  say  about 
the  Governor  of  Madras  ;  and  at  this  juncture  of  affairs  it  would 
have  been  the  worst  possible  taste  to  inquire  too  closely  after 
the  nobleman's  welfare. 

So  the  dinner  wore  on  to  its  stately  c^ose,  and  just  as  the 
solemn  procession  of  flunkeys,  long  as  the  shadowy  line  of  the 
kings  in  Macbeth,  filed  off  with  the  empty  ice-dishes.  Lady 
Maulevrier  said  something  which  was  as  if  a  shell  had  exploded 
in  the  middle  of  the  table. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  in  such  good  spirits," 
she  said,  beaming  upon  her  host,  and  speaking  in  those  clear, 
perfectly  finished  syllables  which  are  heard  further  than  the 
louder  accents  of  less  polished  speakers,  "  but  you  will  not 
wonder  when  I  let  you  into  the  secret.  Maulevrier  is  on  his 
way  home." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Lord  Denyer,  with  the  most  benignant  smile 
he  could  command  at  such  short  notice.  He  felt  that  his  orbic- 
ular muscles  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  betraying  too 
much  of  his  real  sentiments.     "  You  must  be  very  glad." 

"  I  am  gladder  than  I  can  say,"  answered  Lady  Maulevriei 
gayly.  "  That  horrid  climate— a  sky  like  molten  copper— an 
atmosphere  that  tastes  of  red-hot  sand — that  flat,  barren  coast 
never  suited  him.  His  term  of  office  would  expire  in  a  little  more 
than  a  year.  However,  I  am  happy  to  say  the  mail  that  came 
in  to-day — I  suppose  you  know  the  mail  is  in?"  (Lord  Denyer 
bowed) — "  brought  me  a  letter  from  his  Lordship,  telling  me  that 
he  has  sent  in  his  resignation  and  taken  his  passage  by  the  next 
big  ship  that  leaves  Madras.  I  imagine  he  will  be  home  in 
October." 

"  If  he  have  a  favorable  passage,"  said  Lord  Denyer.     "Fav- 


8  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE, 

ored  by  your  good  wishes  the  winds  and  waves  ought  to  deal 
gently  with  him," 

"Ah,  we  have  done  with  the  old  days  of  Greek  story,  when 
Poseidon  was  open  to  feminine  influence,"  sighed  her  ladyship. 
"  My  poor  Ulysses  has  no  goddess  of  wisdom  to  look  after  him." 

''Perhaps  not,  but  he  has  the  most  charming  of  Penelopes 
waiting  for  him  at  home." 

"  A  Penelope  who  goes  to  dinners  and  takes  life  pleasantly 
in  his  absence.  That  is  a  new  order  of  things,  is  it  not } " 
said  her  Ladyship,  laughingly.  "  I  hope  my  poor  Ulysses  will 
not  come  home  thoroughly  broken  in  health,  but  that  our  Suther- 
landshire  breezes  will  set  him  up  again." 

"  Rather  an  ordeal  after  India,  I  should  think,"  said  Lord 
Denyer. 

*'  It  is  his  native  air.     He  will  revel  in  it." 

*'  Delicious  country,  no  doubt,"  assented  his  Lordship,  who 
was  no  sportsman,  and  who  detested  Scotland,  grouse  moors, 
deer  forests,  salmon  rivers  included. 

His  only  idea  of  a  Winter  residence  was  Florence  or  Capri, 
and  of  the  two  he  preferred  Capri.  The  island  was  at  that  time 
little  frequented  by  Englishmen.  It  had  hardly  been  fashion- 
able since  the  time  of  Tiberius,  but  Lord  Denyer  went  there, 
accompanied  by  his  French  chef  and  a  dozen  other  servants, 
and  roughed  it  in  the  native  hotel,  while  Lady  Denyer  wintered 
at  the  family  seat  among  the  hills  near  Bath,  and  gave  herself 
over  to  Low  Church  devotion  and  works  of  benevolence.  She 
made  herself  a  terror  to  the  neighborhood  by  the  strictness  of 
her  ideas  all  through  the  Autumn  and  vVinter  ;  and  in  the  Spring 
she  went  up  to  London,  put  on  her  turban  and  her  diamonds, 
and  plunged  into  the  vortex  of  West  End  society,  where  she 
revolved  among  other  diamonded  matrons  for  the  season,  telling 
herself  and  her  intimates  that  this  sacrifice  of  inclination  was 
due  to  his  Lordship's  position.  Lady  Denyer  was  not  the  less 
serious-minded  because  she  was  seen  at  every  aristocratic  resort, 
and  wore  low  gowns  with  very  short  sleeves  and  a  great  display 
of  mottled  arm  and  dimpled  elbow. 

Now  came  her  ladyship's  smiling  signal  for  the  withdrawal  of 
that  fairer  half  of  the  assembly  which  was  supposed  to  be  indif- 
ferent to  Lord  Denver's  famous  port  and  Madeira.  She  had 
been  throwing  out  her  gracious  signals  unperceived  for  at  least 
five  minutes  before  Lady  Maulevrier  responded,  so  entirely  was 
that  lady  absorbed  in  her  conversation  with  Lord  Denyer ;  but 
she  caught  the  look  at  last,  and  rose  as  if  moved  by  the  same 
machinery  which  impelled  her  hostess,  and  then,  graceful  as  a 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  9 

swan  sailing  with  the  current,  she  drifted  down  the  room  to  the 
distant  door,  and  headed  the  stately  procession  of  matronly  vel- 
vet and  diamonds,  herself  at  once  the  most  regal  and  the  most 
graceful  figure  in  that  bevy  of  matrons. 

In  the  drawing-room  nobody  could  be  gayer  than  La<dy  Mau- 
levrier,  as  she  marked  the  time  of  Signor  Paponizzi's  tarantella, 
exquisitely  performed  on  the  signer's  famed  Amati  violin,  or 
talked  of  the  latest  scandal — always  excepting  that  latest  scan- 
dal of  all  which  involved  her  own  husband — in  subdued  murmurs 
with  one  of  her  intimates.  In  the  dinmg-room  the  men  drew  closer 
together  over  their  wine,  and  tore  Lord  Maulevrier's  character 
to  rags.  Yea,  they  rent  him  with  their  teeth  and  gnawed  the 
flesh  from  his  bones,  until  there  was  not  so  much  left  of  him  as 
the  dogs  left  of  Jezebel. 

He  had  been  a  scamp  from  his  cradle,  a  spendthrift  and  a 
cheat  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  a  blackleg  in  his  manhood.  Clever, 
yes,  undoubtedly,  just  as  Satan  is  clever,  and  as  unscrupulous  as 
that  very  Satan.  This  is  what  his  friends  said  of  him  over  their 
wine.  And  now  he  was  rumored  to  have  sold  the  British  forces 
in  the  Carnatic  provinces  to  one  of  the  native  princes.  Yes,  to 
have  taken  gold,  gold  to  an  amount  which  Clive  in  his  most 
rapacious  moments  never  dreamt  of,  for  his  country's  blood. 
Tidings  of  dark  transactions  between  the  Governor  and  native 
princes  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  government ;  tidings  so 
vague,  so  incredible,  that  the  government  might  naturally  be 
slow  to  believe,  still  slower  to  act.  There  were  whispers  of  a 
woman's  influence,  a  wicked  Indian  princess,  a  creature  as  fas- 
cinating and  as  unscrupulous  as  Cleopatra.  The  scandal  had 
been  growing  for  months  past,  but  it  was  only  in  the  letters 
received  to-day  that  the  rumor  had  taken  a  tangible  shape,  and 
now  it  was  currently  reported  that  Lord  Maulevrier  had  been 
recalled,  and  he  would  have  to  answer  at  the  bar  of  the  House 
of  Lords  for  his  misdemeanors,  just  as  Warren  Hastings 
had  done  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  with  far  less 
chance  of  escape. 

Yet,  in  the  face  of  all  this.  Lady  Maulevrier  bore  herself  as 
proudly  as  if  her  husband's  name  were  spotless,  and  talked  of 
his  return  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  fond  and  trusting  wife. 

"  One  of  the  finest  bits  of  acting  I  ever  saw  in  my  life,"  said 
the  court  physician.  "  Mademoiselle  Mars  never  did  anything 
better." 

"  Do  you  really  think  it  w^as  acting  ?  "  inquired  Lord  Denyer, 
affecting  a  youthful  candor  and  trustfulness  which  at  his  age  and 
with  his  experience  he  could  hardly  be  supposed  to  possess. 


10  PHANTOM  FORTtlNE. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  I  watched  her  while  she 
was  talking  of  Maulevrier,  and  I  saw  just  one  bead  of  perspira- 
tion break  out  on  her  upper  lip — an  unmistakable  sign  of  the 
mental  struggle." 


CHAPTER  II. 

ULYSSES. 

October  was  ending  drearily  with  northwest  winds,  dust,  drift- 
ing dead  leaves,  and  a  steel-gray  sky,  and  the  Dolphin  Hotel  at 
Southampton  was  glorified  by  the  presence  of  Lady  Maulevrier 
and  suite.  Her  Ladyship's  suite  was  on  this  occasion  limited  to 
three  servants — her  French  maid,  a  footman  and  a  kind  of  fac- 
totum, a  man  of  no  distinct  and  arbitrary  signification  in  her 
Ladyship's  household,  neither  butler  nor  steward,  but  that  privi- 
leged being,  an  old  and  trusted  servant,  and  a  person  who  was 
supposed  to  enjoy  more  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  confidence  than 
any  other  member  of  her  establishment. 

This  James  Steadman  had  been  valet  to  her  Ladyship's  father, 
Lord  Peverill,  during  the  declining  years  of  that  nobleman.  The 
narrow  limits  of  a  sick-room  had  brought  the  master  and  servant 
into  a  closer  companionship  than  is  common  to  that  relation. 
Lady  Diana  Angersthorpe  was  a  devoted  daughter,  and  in  her 
attendance  upon  the  Earl  during  the  last  three  years  of  his  life 
— a  life  which  closed  more  than  a  year  before  her  own  marriage 
— she  saw  a  great  deal  of  James  Steadman  and  learned  to  trust 
him  as  servants  are  not  often  trusted.  He  was  not  more  than 
twenty  years  of  age  at  the  beginning  of  his  service,  but  he  was 
a  man  of  extraordinary  gravity,  much  in  advance  of  his  years  ;  a 
man  of  shrewd  common  sense  and  clear,  sharp  intellect.  Not  a 
reading  man,  or  a  man  in  any  way  superior  to  his  station  and 
belongings,  but  a  man  who  could  think  quickly  and  understand 
quickly,  and  who  always  seemed  to  think  rightly.  Prompt  in 
action,  yet  steady  as  a  rock,  and  to  all  appearance  recognizing 
no  earthly  interest,  no  human  tie  beyond  or  above  the  interests 
of  his  master.  As  a  nurse,  Steadman  showed  himself  invaluable. 
Lord  Peverill  left  him  a  hundred  pounds  in  acknowledgment 
of  his  services,  which  was  something  for  Lord  Peverill,  who  had 
very  little  ready  cash  wherewith  to  endow  his  only  daughter. 
After  his  death  the  title  and  estates  went  to  a  distant  cousin,  and 
Lady  Diana  Angersthorpe  was  taken  in  hand  by  her  aunt,  the 


PIIA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 1 

Dowager  Marchioness  of  Carrisbrook,  and  james  Steadman 
would  have  had  to  find  employment  among  strangers  if  Lady 
Diana  had  not  pleaded  so  urgently  with  her  as  to  secure  him  a 
somewhat  insignificant  post  in  her  Ladyship's  establishment. 

"  If  ever  I  have  a  house  of  my  own,  you  shall  have  a  better 
place  in  it,  Steadman,"  said  Lady  Diana. 

She  kept  her  word,  and  on  her  marriage  with  Maulevrier, 
which  happened  about  eighteen  months  afterward,  Steadman 
passed  into  that  nobleman's  service.  He  was  a  member  of  her 
Ladyship's  body-guard,  and  his  employment  seemed  to  consist 
chiefly  in  poking  fires,  cutting  the  leaves  of  books  and  news- 
papers, superintending  the  footman's  attendance  upon  her  Lady- 
ship's household  pets,  and  conveying  her  sentiments  to  the  other 
servants.  He  was  in  a  manner  Lady  Maulevrier's  mouthpiece, 
and  although  treated  with  a  respect  that  verged  upon  awe,  he 
was  not  a  favorite  with  the  other  servants. 

And  now^  the  house  in  May  Fair  was  given  over  to  the  charge 
of  caretakers,  and  all  the  other  servants  had  been  dispatched  by 
coach  to  her  Ladyship's  favorite  retreat  in  Westmoreland,  within 
a  few  miles  of  the  Laureate's  home  at  Rydal  Mount,  and  James 
Steadman  was  charged  with  the  whole  responsibility  of  her  Lady- 
ship's traveling  arrangements. 

Penelope  had  come  to  Southampton  to  wait  for  Ulysses,  whose 
ship  had  been  due  for  more  than  a  week,  and  whose  white  sails 
might  be  expected  above  the  horizon  at  any  moment.  James 
Steadman  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time  waiting  about  at  the 
docks  for  the  earliest  news  of  Greene's  ship,  the  Hypermnestra, 
while  Lady  Maulevrier  waited  patiently  in  her  sitting-room  at  the 
Dolphin,  whose  three  long  French  windows  commanded  a  view 
of  the  High  Street,  with  all  those  various  distractions  afforded 
by  the  chief  thoroughfare  of  a  provincial  town.  Her  Ladyship 
was  provided  with  a  large  box  ot  books  from  Ebers's  in  Bond 
Street,  a  basket  of  fancy  work,  and  her  favorite  Blenheim  span- 
iel, Lalla  Rookh ;  but  even  these  sources  of  amusement  did  not 
prevent  the  involuntary  expression  of  weariness  in  occasional 
yawns,  and  frequent  pacings  up  and  down  the  long  empty  room, 
where  the  formal  hotel  furniture  had  a  comfortless  and  chilly 
look. 

Fellside,  her  Ladyship's  place  in  Westmoreland,  was  the  pleas- 
ure house  which,  among  all  her  possessions,  she  most  valued  ; 
but  it  had  hitherto  been  reserved  for  Summer  occupation,  or  for 
perhaps  two  or  three  weeks  at  Easter,  when  the  Spring  was  ex- 
ceptionally fine.  The  sudden  determination  to  spend  the  Winter 
in  the  house  near  Grasmere  was  considered  a  curious  freak  of 


1 2  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Lady  Maulevrier's,  and  she  was  constrained  to  explain  her  mo- 
tives to  her  friends. 

"  His  Lordship  is  out  of  health,"  she  said,  "  and  wants  perfect 
health  and  retirement.  Now,  Fellside  is  the  only  place  we  have 
in  which  he  is  likely  to  get  perfect  rest.  T^ny where  else  we 
should  have  to  entertain.  Fellside  is  out  of  the  world.  There 
is  no  one  to  be  entertained." 

"  Except  your  neighbor,  Wordsworth.  I  suppose  you  see  him 
sometimes  ?  " 

"  Dear  simple-minded  old  soul,  he  gives  nobody  any  trouble," 
said  her  Ladyship. 

"  But  is  not  Westmoreland  very  cold  in  Winter  ?  "  asked  her 
friend. 

Lady  Maulevrier  smiled  benignly,  as  at  inoffensive  ignorance. 

"So  sheltered,"  she  murmured.  "We  are  at  the  base  of  the 
fell.  Loughrigg  rises  up  like  a  cyclopean  wall  between  us  and 
the  wind." 

"  But  when  the  wind  is  in  the  other  direction  ?  " 

"  We  have  Nabb  Scar.  You  do  not  know  how  we  are  girdled 
and  defended  by  hills." 

"  Very  pleasant,"  agreed  the  friend  ;  "  but  for  my  own  part 
I  would  rather  Winter  in  the  South." 

Those  terrible  rumors  which  had  first  come  upon  the  world  of 
London  last  June  had  been  growing  darker  and  more  defined 
ever  since,  but  still  Lady  Maulevrier  made  believe  to  ignore 
them  ;  and  she  acted  her  part  of  unconsciousness  with  such  con- 
summate skill  that  nobody  in  her  circle  could  be  sure  where  the 
acting  began  and  where  the  ignorance  left  off.  The  astute 
Lord  Denyer  declared  that  she  was  a  wonderful  woman,  and 
knew  more  about  the  real  state  of  the  case  than  anybody  else. 

Meanwhile  it  was  said  by  those  who  were  supposed  to  be  well 
informed  that  a  startling  mass  of  evidence  was  accumulating 
against  Lord  Maulevrier.  The  India  House,  it  was  rumored, 
was  busy  with  the  secret  investigation  of  his  case,  prior  to  that 
])ublic  inquiry  which  was  to  come  on  during  the  next  session. 
His  private  fortune  would  be  made  answerable  for  his  misdemean- 
ors— his  life,  said  the  alarmists,  might  pay  the  penalty  of  his 
treason.  On  all  sides  it  was  agreed  that  the  case  against  Lord 
Maulevrier  looked  as  black  as  Erebus ;  and  still  Lady  Maule- 
vrier looked  society  in  the  face  with  an  unshaken  courage,  and 
was  ready  with  smiles  and  gracious  word  for  all  comers. 

And  now  came  a  harder  trial,  which  was  to  receive  the  man 
who  had  disgraced  her,  lowered  her  pride  to  the  dust,  degraded 
the  name  she  bore.     She  had  married  him,  not  loving  him— ' 


r n A NTOM  FORTUNE.  13 

nay,  plucking  another  love  out  of  her  heart  in  order  that  she 
might  give  herself  to  him.  She  had  married  him  for  position 
and  fortune,  and  now  by  his  follies,  by  his  extravagance  and  by 
that  greed  of  gold  which  is  the  natural  result  of  the  spendthrift's 
habits,  he  had  gone  near  to  cheat  her  out  of  both  name  and 
fortune.  Yet  she  so  commanded  herself  as  to  receive  him  with 
a  friendly  air  when  he  arrived  at  the  Dolphin  on  a  dull  gray 
Autumn  afternoon,  after  she  had  waited  for  him  nearly  a  fort- 
night. 

James  Steadman  ushered  in  his  Lordship,  a  frail,  attenuated 
looking  figure,  of  middle  height,  wrapped  in  a  furred  cloak,  yet 
shivering,  a  pale  sickly  face,  light  auburn  whiskers,  light  blue  eyes, 
full  and  large,  but  with  no  intellectual  power  in  them.  Lady 
Maulevrier  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  in  a  melancholy  attitude,  with 
the  Blenheim  spaniel  on  her  lap.  Her  son  was  at  Hastings  with 
his  nurses.  She  had  nothing  nearer  and  dearer  than  the  span- 
iel. 

She  rose  and  went  over  to  her  husband,  and  let  him  kiss  her.  It 
would  have  been  too  much  to  say  that  she  kissed  ;  but  she  sub- 
mitted her  lips  unresistingly  to  his,  and  they  sat  down  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  hearth. 

"A  wretched  afternoon,"  said  his  Lordship,  shivering,  and 
drawing  his  chair  closer  to  the  hre.  Steadman  had  taken  away 
his  fur-lined  cloak.  "  I  had  really  underrated  the  disagreeable- 
ness  of  the  English  climate.     It  is  abominable." 

"  To-day  is  not  a  fair  sample,"  answered  her  Ladyship,  trying 
to  be  cheerful.     "  We  have  had  some  pleasant  Autumn  days." 

"  I  detest  Autumn  !  "  exclaimed  Lord  Maulevrier,  "a  season 
of  dead  leaves,  damp  and  dreariness.  I  should  like  to  get  away 
to  the  south  of  France  as  soon  as  we  can." 

Her  Ladyship  gave  him  a  scathing  look,  half  scornful,  half  in- 
credulous. 

"  You  surely  would  not  dream  of  leaving  the  country,"  she 
said,  "  under  present  circumstances.  So  long  as  you  are  here 
to  answer  all  charges  no  one  will  interfere  with  your  liberty,  but 
if  you  were  to  cross  the  Channel — " 

"  My  slanderers  might  insinuate  that  I  was  running  away," 
interrupted  Maulevrier,  "  although  the  very  fact  of  my  return 
ought  to  prove  to  every  one  that  I  am  able  to  meet  and  face 
this  cabal."  ' 

"  Is  it  a  cabal  ? "  asked  her  Ladyship,  looking  at  him  with  a 
gaze  that  searched  his  soul.  "  Can  you  meet  their  charges  ? 
Can  you  live  down  this  hideous  accusation,  and  hold  up  your 
head  as  a  man  of  honor  ?  " 


14  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

The  sensualist's  blue  eyes  nervously  shunned  that  look  of 
earnest  interrogation.  His  lips  answered  the  wife's  spoken 
question  with  a  lie,  a  lie  made  manifest  by  the  expression  of  his 
countenance. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  he  said. 

His  wife  answered  not  a  word.  She  was  assured  that  the 
charges  were  true,  and  that  the  battered  rake  who  shivered  over 
the  fire  had  neither  courage  nor  ability  to  face  his  accusers. 
She  saw  the  whole  fabric  of  her  life  in  ruins,  her  son  the  penni- 
less successor  to  a  tarnished  name.  There  was  silence  for  some 
minutes.  Lady  Maulevrier  sat  with  lowered  eyelids  looking  at 
the  fire,  deep  in  painful  thought.  Two  perpendicular  wrinkles 
upon  her  broad  white  forehead — so  calm,  so  unclouded  in  so- 
ciety— told  of  gnawing  cares.  When  she  stole  a  look  at  her 
husband,  as  he  reclined  in  his  arm  chair,  his  head  lying  back 
against  the  cushions  in  listless  repose,  his  eyes  looking  vacantly 
toward  the  wdndow,  whence  he  could  see  only  the  rain-blurred 
front  of  opposite  houses,  blank,  dull  windows,  gray  slated  roofs, 
against  a  gray  sky. 

He  had  been  a  handsome  man,  and  he  was  handsome  still, 
albeit  premature  decay,  the  result  of  a  dissipated,  evil  life,  was 
distinctly  marked  in  his  faded  face.  The  dull  yellow  tint  of  the 
complexion,  the  tarnished  dimness  of  the  large  blue  eyes,  the 
discontented  droop  of  the  lips,  the  languor  of  the  attitude,  the 
pallid  transparency  of  the  wasted  hands,  all  told  of  a  life  worn 
threadbare,  energies  exhausted,  chances  thrown  away,  a  mind 
abandoned  to  despair. 

"  You  look  very  ill,"  said  his  wife,  after  that  long,  blank  inter- 
val,  which  marked  so  unnatural  an  apathy  between  husband  and 
wife,  meeting  after  so  long  a  severance. 

"  I  am  very  ill.  I  liave  been  worried  to  death — surrounded 
by  rogues  and  liars— the  victim  of  a  most  infernal  conspiracy." 
He  spoke  hurriedly,  growing  whiter  and  more  tremulous  as  he 
went  on. 

"  Don't  talk  about  it.  You  agitate  yourself  to  no  purpose," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier,  not  unkindly,  but  with  a  tranquillity  which 
seemed  to  indicate  supreme  coldness,  yet  wdiich  might  be  the 
result  of  suppressed  feeling.  "  If  you  are  to  face  this  scandal 
firmly  and  boldly  next  January,  5'ou  must  try  to  recover  physical 
strength  in  the  mean  while.  Mental  energy  may  come  with  bet- 
ter health." 

"I  shall  never  be  any  better,"  said  Lord  Maulevrier  testily; 
"  that  infernal  climate  has  shattered  my  constitution." 

"  Two  or  three  months  of  perfect  rest  and  good  nursing  will 


PHANTOM  FOR  TONE.  15 

make  a  new  man  of  you.  I  liave  arranged  that  we  shall  go 
straight  from  here  to  Fellside.  No  one  can  plague  you  there 
with  that  disguised  maliciousness  called  sympathy.  You  can 
give  your  thoughts  to  the  ordeal  before  you,  and  be  ready  to  meet 
vour  accusers.     Fortunately,  you  have  no  Burke  against  you." 

''Fellside!" 

"  Yes.  You  know  how  fond  I  am  of  that  place.  I  little 
thought  when  you  settled  it  upon  me — a  cottage  in  Westmore- 
land with  fifty  acres  of  garden  and  meadow — so  utterly  insig- 
nificant— that  I  should  ever  like  it  better  than  any  of  your 
places." 

"  A  charming  retreat  in  Summer,  but  we  have  never  wintered 
there.  What  put  it  into  your  head  to  go  there  at  such  a  season 
as  this  ?  Why,  I  dare  say  the  snow  is  on  the  tops  of  the  hills 
already." 

"  It  is  the  only  place  I  know  where  you  will  not  be  watched 
and  talked  about,"  replied  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  You  will  be  out 
of  the  eye  of  the  world.  I  should  think  that  consideration  would 
weigh  more  with  you  than  two  or  three  degrees  of  the  thermom- 
eter." 

"  I  detest  cold,"  said  the  Earl,  *'  and  in  my  weak  health — " 

"  We  will  take  care  of  you,"  answered  her  Ladyship,  and  in 
the  discussion  which  followed  she  bore  herself  so  firmly  that  her 
husband  was  fain  to  give  way.  How  could  a  disgraced  and 
ruined  man,  broken  in  health  and  spirits,  contest  the  mere  de- 
tails of  life  with  a  resolute,  high-spirited  woman  ten  years  his 
junior. 

The  Earl  wanted  to  go  to  London  and  remain  there  at  least  a 
week,  but  this  her  ladyship  strenuously  opposed.  He  must  see 
his  lawyer,  he  urged  ;  there  were  steps  to  be  taken  which  could 
be  taken  only  under  legal  advice — counsel  to  be  retained.  If 
this  lying  invention  of  Satan  were  really  destined  to  take  the 
form  of  a  public  trial  he  must  be  prepared  to  fight  his  foes  on 
their  own  ground. 

•'  You  can  make  all  your  preparations  at  Fellside,"  answered 
his  wife,  resolutely.  "  I  have  seen  Messrs.  Rigby  and  Ryder, 
and  your  own  particular  ally,  Rigby,  will  go  to  you  at  Fellside 
whinever  you  want  him." 

"  That  is  not  like  being  on  the  spot,"  said  his  Lordship,  nen^- 
ously,  evidently  much  disconcerted  by  her  Ladyship's  firmness, 
but  too  feeble  in  mind  and  body  for  a  prolonged  contest ;  "  I 
ought  to  be  on  the  spot.  I  am  not  without  influence  ;  I  have 
friends,  men  in  power." 

"  Surely  you  are  not  2;oing  to  appeal  to  friendship  in  order  to 


,6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

vindicate  your  honor.  These  charges  are  true  or  false.  If  they 
are  false  your  own  manhood,  your  own  rectitude,  can  face  them 
and  trample  upon  them,  unaided  by  backstairs  influence.  If 
they  are  true  no  man  can  help  you." 

"  I  think  you,  at  least,  ought  to  know  that  they  are  as  false  as 
hell,"  retorted  the  Earl,  with  an  attempt  to  maintain  his  dignity. 

"  I  have  acted  as  if  I  so  believed,"  replied  his  wife,  gravely. 
"I  have  lived  as  if  there  were  no  such  slander  in  the  air.  I 
have  steadily  ignored  every  report,  every  insinuation — have 
held  my  head  as  high  as  if  I  knew  you  w^ere  immaculate." 

"  I  expected  as  much  from  you,"  answered  the  Earl,  coolly. 
*'  If  I  had  not  known  you  were  a  woman  of  sense  I  should  not 
have  married  you." 

This  was  his  utmost  expression  of  gratitude.  His  next  re- 
mark had  reference  solely  to  his  own  comfort.  Where  were  his 
rooms,  at  what  hour  were  they  to  dine  ?  And  hereupon  he  rang 
for  his  valet,  a  German  Swiss,  and  a  servant  out  of  a  thousand. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  THE  WRONG  ROAD. 

Lord  and  Lady  Maulevrier  left  Southampton  next  morning 
posting.  They  took  two  servants  in  the  rumble,  Steadman 
and  the  footman.  Steadman  was  to  valet  his  Lordship,  the  foot- 
man to  be  useful  in  all  emergencies  of  the  journey.  The  maid 
and  the  valet  were  to  travel  by  heavy  coach  with  the  luggage — 
her  Ladyship  dispensing  v/ith  all  attendance  during  the  journey. 

The  first  day'  took  them  to  Rugby,  whither  they  traveled 
across  country  by  Wallingford  and  Oxford.  The  second  day 
took  them  to  Lichfield.  Lord  Maulevrier  was  out  of  health  and 
feeble,  and  grumbled  a  good  deal  about  the  fatigue  of  the  journey, 
the  badness  of  the  weather,  which  was  dull  and  cold,  east  winds 
all  day,  and  a  light  frost  morning  and  night.  As  they  progressed 
northward  the  sky  looked  grayer,  the  air  became  more  biting. 
His  Lordship  insisted  upon  the  stages  being  shortened.  He^ay 
in  bed  at  his  hotel  till  noon,  and  was  seldom  ready  to  start  till 
two  o'clock.  He  could  see  no  reason  for  haste  ;  the  Winter 
would  be  long  enough  in  all  conscience  at  Fellside.  He  com- 
plained of  mysterious  aches  and  pains,  described  himself  in  the 
presence  of  hotel-keepers  and  head-waiters  as  a  mass  of  mala- 
dies.    He  was  nervous,  irritable,  intensely  disagreeable.     Ladv 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  17 

Maulevrier  bore  his  humors  with  unwavering  patience,  and  won 
golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people  by  her  devotion  to  a 
husband  whose  blighted  name  was  the  common  talk  of  England. 
Everybody,  even  in  distant  provincial  towns,  had  heard  of  the 
scandal  against  the  governor  of  Madras  ;  and  everybody  looked 
at  the  sallow-faced  Anglo-Indian  with  morbid  curiosity.  His 
Lordship,  sensitive  on  all  points  touching  his  own  ease  and  com- 
fort, was  keenly  conscious  of  this  unpleasant  inquisitiveness. 
The  journey,  protracted  by  Lord  Maulevrier's  languor  and  ill- 
health,  dragged  its  slow  length  along  for  nearly  a  fortnight,  un- 
til it  seemed  to  Lady  Maulevrier  as  if  they  had  been  traveling 
upon  those  dismal,  flat,  unpicturesque  roads  for  months.  Each 
day  was  so  horribly  like  yesterday.  The  same  hedgerows  and 
flat  fields,  and  passing  glimpse  of  river  or  canal.  The  same 
absence  of  all  beauty  in  the  landscape — the  same  formal  hotel 
rooms  and  smirking  landladies — and  so  on  till  they  came  to  Lan- 
caster, after  which  the  country  became  more  interesting — hills 
arose  in  the  background,  even  the  smoky  manufacturing  towns 
through  which  they  passed  without  stopping  were  less  abomina- 
ble than  the  level  respectability  of  the  Midland  counties. 

But  now  as  they  drew  nearer  the  hills  the  weather  grew  colder. 
Snow  was  spoken  of,  and  when  they  got  into  Westmoreland  the 
hill  tops  gleamed  whitely  against  the  leaden  gray  of  the  sk3\ 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  brought  me  here  in  such  weather,'* 
complained  the  Earl,  shivering  in  his  furs,  as  he  sat  in  his  cor- 
ner of  the  traveling  chariot,  looking  discontentedly  at  the  gloomy 
landscape.  "  What  is  to  become  of  us  if  we  are  caught  in  a 
snowstorm  ?  " 

"  W^e  shall  have  no  snow  worth  talking  about  before  we  are 
safely  housed  at  Fellside,  and  then  we  can  defy  the  elements," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier  coolly. 

They  slept  that  night  at  Oxenholme,  and  started  next  morning 
under  a  clear,  bright  sky,  intending  to  take  luncheon  at  Winder- 
mere and  to  be  at  home  by  nightfall. 

But  by  the  time  they  got  to  Windermere  the  sky  had  changed 
to  a  dark  gray,  and  the  people  at  the  hotel  prophesied  a  heavy 
fall  before  night,  and  urged  the  Earl  and  Countess  to  go  no 
further  that  day.  The  latter  part  of  the  road  to  Fellside  was 
rough  and  hilly.  If  there  should  be  a  snowstorm  the  horses 
would  never  be  able  to  drag  the  carriage  up  the  steepest  bit  of 
the  way.  Here,  however,  the  Earl's  obstinacy  came  into  play.- 
He  would  not  drag  out  another  night  at  a  hotel  so  near  his  own 
house.  He  was  sick  to  death  of  traveling,  and  wanted  to  be  at- 
rest  among  comfortable  surroundings. 


i8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  It  was  murder  to  bring  me  here,"  he  said  to  his  wife  "  It 
I  had  gone  to  Hastings  I  should  have  been  a  new  man  by  this 
time.     As  it  is  I  am  a  great  deal  worse  than  when  I  landed." 

Every  one  at  the  hotel  noticed  his  Lordship's  white  and  hag- 
gard looks.  He  had  been  known  there  as  a  young  man  in  the 
"bloom  of  health  and  strength,  and  his  decay  was  particularly  ob- 
vious to  these  people. 

*'  I  saw  death  in  his  face,"  the  landlord  said,  afterward. 

Everything,  even  her  Ladyship's  firmness  and  good  sense, 
gave  way  before  the  invalid's  impatience.  At  three  in  the  after 
noon  they  left  the  hotel,  with  four  horses,  to  make  the  remainirj? 
nineteen  miles  of  the  way  in  one  stage.  They  had  not  been  on 
the  road  half  an  hour  before  the  snow  began  to  fall  thickly, 
whitening  everything  around  them,  except  the  lake,  which  showed 
a  dark  leaden  surface  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope  along  the  ^d^'g<t 
of  which  they  were  traveling.  Too  sullen  for  speech  Lord 
Maulevrier  sat  back  in  his  corner,  with  his  sable  cloak  drawn 
up  to  his  chin,  his  fur  traveling  cap  covering  head  and  eyes,  his 
eyes  contemplating  the  whitening  world  with  a  weary  anger. 
His  wife  watched  the  landscape  as  long  as  she  could,  but  the 
snow  soon  began  to  darken  all  the  air,  and  she  could  see  noth- 
mg  but  that  blank  blinding  fall. 

Half  way  to  Fellside  there  was  a  point  where  two  roads  met, 
one  leading  toward  Grasmere,  the  other  toward  the  village  of 
Great  Langdale,  a  lonely  cluster  of  humble  habitations  among 
the  hills.  When  the  horses  had  struggled  as  far  as  this  point, 
the  snow  was  six  inches  deep  on  the  road,  and  made  a  thick 
curtain  around  them  as  it  fell.  By  this  time  the  Earl  had  dozed 
off  to  sleep. 

He  woke  an  hour  later,  let  down  the  window  which  let  in  a 
snow-laden  gust,  and  tried  to  pierce  the  gloom  without. 

"  As  black  as  Erebus  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  but  we  ought  to 
be  close  at  home  by  this  time.  Yes,  thank  God,  there  are  the 
lights." 

The  carriage  drew  up  a  minute  afterward  and  Steadman  came 
to  the  door. 

"  Very  sorry,  my  Lord.  The  horses  must  have  taken  a  wrong 
turn  after  we  crossed  the  bridge  and  brought  us  here.  And  now 
the  men  say  they  can't  go  back  to  Fellside  unless  we  can  get 
fresh  horses,  and  I'm  afraid  there's  no  chance  of  that  here." 

"  Here  !  "  exclaimed  the  Earl,  "  what  do  you  mean  by  here  ? 
Where  the  devil  are  we  ? " 

*'  Great  Langdale,  my  Lord." 

A  door  ooened  and  let  out  a  flood  of  light — the  red  light  of  a 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  19 

wood  fire,  the  pale  flame  of  a  candle — upon  the  snowy  darkness, 
revealing  the  paneled  hall  of  a  neat  little  rustic  inn  ;  an  eight- 
day  clock  ticking  in  the  corner,  a  black  and  white  sheep  dog 
coming  out  at  his  master's  heels  to  investigate  the  travelers. 
To  the  right  of  the  door  showed  the  light  of  a  window,  shel- 
tered by  a  red  curtain,  behind  which  the  chiefs  of  the  village 
were  enjoying  their  evening. 

"  Have  you  any  post  horses  ?  "  asked  the  Earl,  discontentedly, 
as  the  landlord  stood  on  the  threshold,  shading  the  candle  with 
his  hand. 

"  No,  sir.     We  don't  keep  post  horses." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  knew  as  much  before  I  asked,"  said  the 
Earl.  "  We  are  fixed  in  this  dismal  hole  for  the  night,  I  sup- 
pose.    How  far  are  we  from  Fellside  .-'  " 

"  Seven  miles,"  answered  the  landlord.  *'  I  beg  your  pardon, 
my  Lord;  I  didn't  know  it  was  your  Lordship,"  he  added  hur- 
riedly. "  We're  in  sore  trouble,  and  it  makes  a  man  daft-like  , 
but  if  there's  anything  we  can  do — " 

"  Is  there  no  hope  of  getting  on,  Steadman  ?  "  asked  the  Earl, 
cutting  short  these  civilities. 

"  Not  with  these  horses,  my  Lord." 

''  And  you  hear  we  can't  get  any  others.  Is  there  any  farmer 
about  here  who  could  lend  us  a  pair  of  carriage  horses  ?  " 

The  landlord  knew  of  no  such  person. 

"Then  we  must  stop  here  till  to-morrow  morning.  What 
infernal  fools  those  post  boys  must  be,"  protested  Lord  Mau- 
levrier. 

James  Steadman  apologized  for  the  postilions,  explaining  that 
when  they  came  to  the  critical  point  of  their  journey,  where  the 
road  branched  off  to  the  Langdales,  the  snow  was  falling  so 
thickly,  the  whole  country  was  so  hidden  in  all-pervading  white- 
ness, that  even  he,  who  knew  the  way  so  well,  could  give  no 
help  to  the  drivers.  He  could  only  trust  to  the  instinct  of  local 
postilions  and  local  horses,  and  instinct  had  proved  wrong. 

The  travelers  alighted,  and  were  ushered  into  a  not  uncom- 
fortable-looking parlor ;  very  low  as  to  the  ceiling,  very  old- 
fashioned  as  to  the  furniture,  but  spotlessly  clean  and  enlivened 
by  a  good  fire,  to  which  his  Lordship  drew  near,  shivering  and 
muttering  discontentedly  to  himself. 

"  We  might  be  worse  off,"  said  her  Ladyship,  looking  round 
the  bright  little  room,  which  pleased  her  better  than  many  a 
state  apartment  in  the  large  hotels  at  which  they  had  stopped. 

"  Hardly,  unless  we  were  out  on  the  moor,"  grumbled  hei 
husband.     *'  I  am  sick  to  death  of  this  ill-advised,  unreasonable 


20  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

journey.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine  your  motive  in  bringing 
me  here.     You  must  have  had  a  motive." 

"  1  had,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier,  with  a  freezing  look. 
"  I  wanted  to  get  you  out  of  the  way.  I  told  you  that  plainly 
enough  at  Southampton." 

"  1  don't  see  why  I  should  be  hurried  away  and  hidden," 
said  Lord  Maulevrier.  "  I  must  face  my  accusers  sooner  or 
later." 

"  Of  course.  The  day  of  reckoning  must  come.  But  in  the 
meantime  have  you  no  delicacy  ?  Do  you  want  to  be  pointed 
at  everywhere  t  " 

*'  All  I  know  is  that  I  am  very  ill,"  answered  her  husband, 
"and  that  this  wretched  journey  has  done  me  a  great  deal  of 
harm." 

"  We  shall  be  safe  at  home  before  noon  to-morrow,  and  you 
can  have  Horton  to  set  you  right  again.  You  know  you  always 
believed  in  his  skill." 

"  Horton  is  a  clever  fellow  enough,  as  country  doctors  go,  but 
at  Hastings  I  could  have  had  the  best  physicians  in  London  to 
see  me,"  grumbled  his  Lordship. 

The  rustic  maid-servant  came  in  to  lay  the  table,  assisted  by 
her  Ladyship's  footman,  who  looked  a  good  deal  too  tall  for  the 
room. 

"  I  sha'n't  dine,"  said  the  Earl.  "  I  am  a  great  deal  too  ill  and 
cold.  Light  a  fire  in  my  room,  and  send  Steadman  to  me  " 
— this  to  the  footman,  who  hastened  to  obey.  "You  can 
send  me  up  a  basin  of  soup  presently.  I  shall  go  to  bed  at 
once." 

He  left  the  room  without  another  word  to  his  wife,  who  sat 
by  the  hearth,  staring  thoughtfully  at  the  cheery  wood  fire. 
Presently  she  looked  up,  and  saw  that  the  man  and  maid  were 
going  on  with  their  preparations  for  dinner. 

"  I  don't  care  about  dining  alone,"  said  her  Ladyship.  "We 
lunched  at  Windermere,  and  I  have  no  appetite.  You  can  clear 
away  those  things,  and  bring  me  some  tea." 

When  the  table  furniture  had  been  cleared,  and  a  neat  lit- 
tle tea  tray  set  upon  the  white  cloth,  Lady  Maulevrier  drew  her 
chair  to  the  table,  and  took  out  her  pocketbook,  from  which 
she  produced  a  letter.  This  she  read  more  than  once,  medita- 
ting profoundly  upon  its  contents. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  he  has  come  home,"  wrote  her  correspond- 
ent, "  and  3-et  if  he  had  stayed  in  India  there  must  have  been 
an  investigation  on  the  spot.  A  public  inquiry  is  inevitable, 
and  the  knowledge  of  his  arrival  in  the  country  will  hasten  it  on. 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  2 1 

From  all  I  hear  I  much  fear  that  there  is  no  chance  of  the  re- 
sult being  favorable  to  him.  You  have  asked  me  to  write  the 
unvarnished  truth,  to  be  brutal  even,  remember.  His  de- 
linquencies are  painfully  notorious,  and  I  apprehend  that  the 
last  sixpence  he  owns  will  be  answerable.  His  landed  estate  I 
am  told  can  also  be  confiscated,  in  the  event  of  an  impeachment 
at  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Lords,  as  in  the  Warren  Hastings 
case,  before  the  Commons.  But  as  yet  nobody  seems  clear  as 
to  the  form  which  this  investigation  will  take.  In  reply  to  your 
inquiry  as  to  what  would  have  happened  if  his  Lordship  had  died 
on  the  passage  home  I  believe  I  am  justified  in  saying  the  scandal 
would  have  been  allowed  to  die  out  with  him.  He  has  con- 
trived to  provoke  powerful  animosities  both  in  the  Cabinet 
and  at  the  India  House,  and  there  is,  I  fear,  an  intention  to  pur- 
sue the  inquiry  to  the  bitter  end." 

Assurances  of  the  writer's  sympathy  followed  these  harsh 
truths.  But  to  this  polite  commonplace  her  Ladyship  paid  no 
attention.  Her  mind  was  intent  on  hard  facts,  the  dismal  prob- 
abilities of  the  near  future. 

"  If  he  had  died  upon  the  passage  home  ! "  she  repeated. 
"  Would  to  God  that  he  had  so  died,  and  that  my  son's  name 
and  fortune  could  be  saved." 

The  innocent  child  who  had  never  given  her  an  hour's  care  ; 
the  one  creature  she  loved  with  all  the  strength  of  her  proud 
nature — his  future  was  to  be  blighted  by  his  father's  misdoings 
— overshadowed  by  shame  and  dishonor  in  the  very  dawn  of 
life.  It  was  a  wicked  wish — an  unnatural  wish  to  find  room 
in  a  woman's  breast,  but  the  wish  was  there.  Would  to  God  he 
had  died  before  the  ship  reached  an  English  port. 

But  he  was  living,  and  would  have  to  face  his  accusers — and 
she,  his  wife,  must  give  him  all  the  help  she  could. 

She  sat  long  by  the  waning  fire.  She  took  nothing  but  a  cup 
of  tea,  although  the  landlady  had  sent  in  substantial  accompani- 
ments to  the  tea-tray  in  the  shape  of  cold  ham,  new-laid  eggs 
and  hot  cakes,  arguing  that  a  traveler  on  such  a  night  must  be 
hungry,  albeit  disinclined  for  a  ceremonious  dinner.  She  had 
been  sitting  for  nearly  an  hour  in  almost  the  same  attitude, 
when  there  came  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door,  and,  on  being  bid- 
den to  enter,  the  landlady  came  in  with  some  logs  in  her  apron, 
under  pretense  of  replenishing  the  fire. 

_"  I  was  afraid  your  fire  must  be  getting  low,  my  Lady,"  she 
said,  as  she  put  on  the  logs,  and  swept  up  the  ashes  on  the 
hearth.  ^  "  Such  a  dreadful  night.  So  early  in  the  year,  too. 
I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  a  hard  Winter." 


22  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

"That  does  not  always  follow,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier. 
"  Has  Steadman  come  down  stairs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady.  He  told  me  to  tell  your  Ladyship  that  his 
Lordship  is  pretty  comfortable,  and  hopes  to  pass  a  good  night." 

*'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  You  can  give  me  another  room,  1  sup- 
pose. It  would  be  better  for  his  Lordship  not  to  be  disturbed, 
as  he  is  very  much  out  of  health." 

"  There  is  another  room,  my  Lady,  but  it's  very  small." 

"  I  don't  mind  how  small,  if  it  is  clean  and  airy." 

"Yes,  my  Lady.  I  am  thankful  to  say  you  won't  find  dirt  or 
stuffiness  anywheVe  in  this  house.  His  Lordship  do  look  mortal 
bad,"  added  the  landlady,  shaking  her  head  dolefully  ;  "  and  I 
remember  him  such  a  fine  young  gentleman  when  he  used  to 
come  down  the  Rothay  with  the  otter  hounds,  running  along 
the  bank — dashing  in  and  out  of  the  beck— up  to  his  knees  in 
the  water — and  now  to  see  him,  so  white  and  mashiated,  and 
broken-down  like,  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  all  along  of  living 
out  in  a  hot  country,  among  blackamoors,  which  is  used  to  it — 
poor,  ignorant  creatures — and  never  knew  no  better.  It  must 
be  a  hard  trial  for  you,  my  Lady." 

"  It  is  a  hard  trial." 

"  Ah !  we  all  have  our  trials,  rich  and  poor,"  sighed  the 
woman,  who  desired  nothing  better  than  to  be  allowed  to  un- 
bosom her  woes  to  the  grand-looking  lady  in  the  fur-bordered 
cloth  pelisse,  with  beautiful  dark  hair  piled  up  in  clustering 
masses  above  a  broad  white  forehead,  with  slender  white  hands 
on  which  diamonds  flashed  and  glittered  in  the  firelight — an 
unaccusto.med  figure  by  that  rustic  hearth. 

"  We  all  have  our  trials — high  and  low." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  looking  up  at 
her,  "  your  husband  said  you  were  in  trouble.  What  did  that 
mean  ? " 

"  Sickness  in  the  house,  my  Lady.  A  brother  of  mine  that 
went  to  America  to  make  his  fortune,  and  seemed  to  be  doing 
so  well  for  the  first  five  or  six  years,  and  wrote  home  such  beau- 
tiful letters,  and  then  left  off  writing  all  at  once,  and  we  made 
sure  as  he  was  dead,  and  never  got  a  word  from  him  for  ten 
years,  and  just  three  weeks  ago  he  drops  in  upon  us  as  we  was 
sitting  over  our  tea  between  the  lights,  looking  as  white  as  a 
ghost.  I  gave  a  shriek  when  I  saw  him,  for  I  was  regular 
scared  out  of  my  senses.  '  Robert's  ghost,'  I  cried  ;  but  it  was 
Robert  himself,  come  home  to  us  to  die.  And  he's  lying  up- 
stairs now^  with  so  little  life  in  him  that  I  expect  every  breath 
to  be  his  Jast." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  23 

"  What  is  his  complaint  ?  " 

"  Apathy,  my  Lady.  Dear,  dear,  that's  not  it.  I  never  do  re- 
member the- doctor's  foreign  names." 

"  Atrophy,  perhaps." 

"  Yes,  my  lady,  that  was  it.  No  doubt  such  words  come  easy 
to  a  scholar  like  your  Ladyship." 

"  Does  the  doctor  give  no  hope  ?  " 

"Well,  no,  my  Lady.  He  don't  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the 
case  is  hopeless.  It  all  depends,  he  says,  upon  the  rallying 
power  of  the  constitution.  The  lungs  are  not  gone,  and  the 
heart  is  not  diseased.  If  there's  rallying  power  Robert  will 
come  round,  and  if  there  isn't  he'll  sink.  But  the  doctor  says 
nature  will  have  to  make  an  effort.  But  I  have  my  own  idea 
about  the  case,"  added  the  landlady,  with  a  sigh. 

"  What  is  your  idea  ?  " 

"  That  the  stamp  of  death  was  on  our  Robert  when  he  came 
into  this  house,  and  that  he  meant  what  he  said  when  he  spoke 
of  coming  home  to  die.  Things  had  gone  against  him  for  the 
last  ten  years  in  America.  He  married  and  took  his  wife  out 
to  a  farm  in  the  Bush,  and  thought  to  make  a  good  thing  out 
of  farming  with  the  money  he'd  accumulated  up  to  then.  But 
America  isn't  Westmoreland,  you  see,  my  Lady,  and  his  knowl- 
edge stood  him  in  no  stead  in  the  Bush  ;  and  first  he  lost  his 
money,  and  then  he  lost  a  child  or  two,  and  then  he  lost  his 
wife,  and  he  came  back  to  us  a  broken-hearted  man  with  no 
wish  to  live.  The  doctor  may  call  it  atrophy,  but  I  call  it  what 
the  Scripture  calls  it,  a  broken  and  a  wounded  spirit." 

"  Who  is  your  doctor  .?  " 

"  Mr.  Evans,  of  Ambleside." 

"That  little  half-blind  old  man!"  exclaimed  her  Ladyship. 
"  Surely  you  have  no  confidence  in  him  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  my  Lady.  But  I  don't  believe  all  the  doctors  in 
London  could  do  anything  for  Robert.  Good  nursing  will  bring 
him  round  if  anything  can  ;  and  he  gets  that,  I  can  assure  your 
Ladyship.  He's  my  only  brother,  the  only  kith  and  kin  that's 
left  to  me,  and  he  and  I  were  rare  and  fond  of  each  other  when 
we  were  young.  You  may  be  sure  I  don't  spare  any  trouble,  and 
my  good  man  thinks  the  best  of  his  larder  or  his  cellar  hardly 
good  enough  for  Robert." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  kind,  good  people,"  replied  her  Ladyship, 
gentl}^  "  but  I  should  have  thought  Mr.  Horton,  of  Grasmere. 
could  have  done  more  than  old  Evans.  However,  you  know  best 
I  hope  his  Lordship  is  not  going  to  add  to  your  cares  by  bein^ 
laid  up  here,  but  he  looked  very  ill  this  evening." 


24  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  He  did,  my  Lady,  mortal  bad." 

*'  However,  we  must  hope  for  the  best.  Steadman  is  a  splendid 
servant  in  illness.  He  nursed  my  father  for  years.  Will  you 
tell  him  to  come  to  me,  if  you  please.  I  want  to  hear  what  he 
thinks  of  his  Lordship,  and  to  discuss  chances  of  our  getting  home 
early  to-morrow." 

The  landlady  retired  and  summoned  Mr.  Steadman,  who  was 
enjoying  his  modest  glass  of  grog  in  front  of  the  kitchen  fire.  He 
had  taught  himself  to  dispense  with  the  consolations  of  tobacco, 
lest  he  should  at  any  time  make  himself  obnoxious  to  her  Ladyship. 

Steadman  was  closeted  with  Lady  Maulevrier  for  the  next 
half-hour,  during  which  his  Lordship's  condition  was  gravely 
discussed.  When  he  left  the  sitting-room  he  told  the  landlord 
to  be  sure  to  feed  the  post-horses  well  and  make  them  comfort- 
able for  the  night,  so  they  might  be  ready  for  the  drive  to  Fell- 
side  early  next  morning. 

"  Do  you  think  his  Lordship  will  be  well  enough  to  travel  ?  " 
asked  the  landlord. 

"  He  has  made  up  his  mind  to  get  home — ill  or  w^ell,"  an- 
sw^ered  Mr.  Steadman.  "  He  has  wasted  about  a  week  by  his 
dawdling  ways  on  the  road,  and  now  he's  in  a  fever  to  get  to 
Fellside." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    LAST   STAGE. 

The  post-horses — which  had  been  well  fed,  but  accommodated 
somewhat  poorly  in  barn  and  stable — were  quite  ready  to  go  on 
next  morning;  but  Lord  Maulevrier  w^as  not  able  to  leave  his 
room,  where  her  Ladyship  remained  in  close  attendance  upon 
him.  The  hills  and  valleys  were  white  with  snow,  but  there  was 
none  falling,  and  Mr.  Evans,  the  elderly  surgeon  from  Amble- 
side, rode  over  to  Great  Langdale  on  his  elderly  cob,  to  look  at 
Robert  Haswell,  and  was  called  in  to  see  Lord  Maulevrier,  Her 
Ladyship  had  spoken  lightly  of  his  skill  on  the  previous  even- 
ing, but  any  doctor  is  better  than  none,  so  this  feeble  little  per- 
sonage was  allowed  to  feel  his  Lordship's  pulse  and  look  at 
his  Lordship's  tongue. 

His  opinion,  never  too  decidedly  given,  was  a  little  more  hazy 
than  usual  on  this  occasion,  perhaps  because  of  a  certain  awful- 
tiess — to  unaccustomed  eyes — in  Lady  Maulevrier's  proud  bear 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  25 

ing.  He  said  that  his  Lordship  was  low,  very  low,  and  that 
the  pulse  was  more  irregular  than  he  liked,  but  he  committed 
himself  no  further  than  this,  and  went  away,  promising  to  send 
such  pills  and  potions  as  were  appropriate  to  the  patient's  con- 
dition. 

A  boy  rode  the  same  pony  over  to  Langdale  later  in  the 
afternoon  with  the  promised  medicines. 

Throughout  the  short  winter  day,  which  seemed  terribly  long 
in  the  stillness  and  solitude  of  Great  Langdale,  Lady  Maulevrier 
kept  watch  in  the  sick  room,  Steadman  coming  in  and  out  in 
constant  attendance  upon  his  master — save  for  one  half-hour 
only,  which  her  Ladyship  passed  in  the  parlor  below  in  conver- 
sation with  the  landlady — a  very  grave  and  earnest  conversation, 
as  indicated  by  Mrs.  Smithson's  grave  and  somewhat  troubled 
looks  when  she  left  her  Ladyship  ;  but  a  good  deal  of  her  trouble 
may  have  been  caused  by  her  brother,  who  was  pronounced  by 
the  doctor  to  be  "  much  the  same." 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  a  mounted  messenger  was  sent 
off  to  Ambleside  in  hot  haste  to  fetch  Mr.  Evans,  who  came  to 
the  inn  to  find  Lady  Maulevrier  kneeling  beside  her  husband's 
bed,  while  Steadman  stood  with  a  grave  and  troubled  counte- 
nance at  a  respectful  distance. 

The  room  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  pair  of  candles  burning  on 
a  table  near  the  window,  and  at  some  distance  from  the  old 
four-post  bedstead,  shaded  by  dark  moreen  curtains.  The  sur- 
geon looked  around  the  room,  and  then  fumbled  in  his  pocket 
for  his  spectacles,  without  the  aid  of  which  the  outside  world 
presented  itself  to  him  under  a  blurred  and  uncertain  aspect. 

He  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  moved  toward  the  bed  ;  but 
the  first  glance  showed  what  had  happened.  The  outline  of 
the  rigid  figure  under  the  coverlet  looked  like  a  sculptured  effigy 
upon  a  tomb.     A  sheet  was  drawn  over  the  face  of  death. 

"  You  are  too  late  to  be  of  any  use,  Mr.  Evans,"  murmured 
Steadman,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  doctor's  sleeve,  and  drawing 
him  away  toward  the  door. 

They  went  softly  on  to  the  landing,  off  which  opened  the  door 
of  that  other  sick-room  where  the  landlady's  brother  was  lying. 

"  When — when  did  this  happen  ?  " 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  messenger  rode  off  to  fetch 
you,"  answered  Steadman.  "  His  Lordship  lay  all  the  afternoon 
in  a  heavy  sleep,  and  we  thought  he  was  going  on  well,  but 
after  dark  there  was  a  trouble  in  his  breathing  which  alarmed 
her  Ladyship,  and  she  insisted  upon  your  being  sent  for.  The 
messenger  had  hardly  been  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  his 


26  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Lordship  woke  suddenly,  muttered  to  himself  in  a  curious  way, 
gave  just  one  long,  shuddering  sigh,  and — and  all  was  over.  It 
was  a  terrible  shock  for  her  ladyship." 

"  Indeed  it  must  have  been,"  murmured  the  village  doctor. 
"  It  is  a  great  surprise  to  me.  I  knew  Lord  Maulevrier  was  low, 
very  low,  the  pulse  feeble  and  intermittent ;  but  I  had  no  fear  of 
anything  of  this  kind.     It  is  very  sudden." 

'''  Yes,  it  is  awfully  sudden,"  said  Steadman,  and  then  he  mur- 
mured in  the  doctor's  ear,  ''  You  will  give  the  necessary  certifi- 
cate, I  hope,  with  as  little  trouble  to  her  Ladyship  as  possible. 
This  is  a  dreadful  blow,  and  she — " 

"  She  shall  not  be  troubled.  The  body  will  be  removed  to- 
morrow, I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  he  must  be  buried  from  his  own  house.  I  sent  a 
second  messenger  to  Ambleside  for  the  undertaker.  He  will  be 
here  very  soon,  no  doubt,  and  if  the  shell  is  ready  by  noon  to- 
morrow, the  body  can  be  removed  then.  I  have  arranged  to 
get  her  Ladyship  away  to-night." 

"  So  late  ?     After  midnight  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  She  cannot  stay  in  this  small  house — so  near 
the  dead.  There  is  a  moon,  and  there  is  no  snow  falling,  and 
we  are  within  nine  miles  of  Fellside." 

The  doctor  had  nothing  further  to  say  against  the  arrange- 
ment, although  such  a  drive  seemed  to  him  a  somewhat  wild  and 
reckless  proceeding.  Mr.  James  Steadman's  grave,  self-pos- 
sessed manner  answered  all  doubts.  Mr.  Evans  filled  in  the 
certificate  for  the  undertaker,  drank  a  glass  of  hot  brandy  and 
water,  and  remounted  his  nag,  in  nowise  relishing  his  midnight 
ride,  but  consoling  himself  with  the  reflection  that  he  would  be 
handsomely  paid  for  his  trouble. 

An  hour  later  Lady  Maulevrier's  traveling  carriage  stood 
ready  in  the  stable  yard,  in  the  deep  shadow  of  wall  and  gables. 
It  was  at  Steadman'^s  order  that  the  carriage  waited  for  her  Lady- 
ship at  an  obscure  side  door,  rather  than  in  front  of  the  inn. 
An  east  wind  was  blowing  keenly  along  the  mountain  road,  and 
the  careful  Steadman  was  anxious  that  his  mistress  should  not 
be  exposed  to  that  chilly  blast. 

There  was  some  delay,  and  the  four  horses  jingled  their  bits 
impatiently,  and  then  the  door  of  the  inn  opened,  a  feeble  light 
gleamed  in  the  narrow  passage  within,  Steadman  stood  ready  to 
assist  her  Ladyship  into  the  carriage,  there  was  a  bustle,  a  con- 
fusion of  dark  figures  on  the  threshold,  the  carriage  door  clapped 
to,  the  horses  went  clattering  out  of  the  stony  yard,  turned 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  27 

sharply  into  the  snowy  road,  and  started  at  a  swinging  pace 
toward  the  dark  sullen  bulk  of  Loughrigg  Fell. 

The  moon  was  shining  upon  Elterwater  in  the  valley  yonder 
— the  mountain  ridges,  the  deep  gorges  below  those  sullen 
heights,  looked  black  where  the  shadow  of  night  enfolded  them  ; 
but  all  along  the  snow-white  road  the  silver  light  shone  full  and 
clear,  until  the  mountain  way  looked  like  a  path  through  fairy- 
land. 


CHAPTER  V. 

AFTER  FORTY  YEARS — LADY  MAULEVRIER'S  GRANDDAUGHTER. 

"  What  a  horrid  day,"  said  Lady  Mary,  throwing  down  her 
book  with  a  yawn,  and  looking  out  of  the  deep  bay  window  into 
a  world  of  mountain  and  lake,  which  was  clouded  over,  nay,  al- 
most blotted  out  and  altogether  extinguished,  by  the  thick  veil 
of  rain  and  dull  gray  mist  ;  such  rain  as  one  sees  only  in  a  lake 
district,  a  dense  wall  of  water  which  shuts  off  sky  and  distance, 
and  narrows  the  world  to  one  solitary  dwelling,  suspended  among 
clouds  and  water,  like  another  ark  in  a  new  deluge. 

Rain — such  rain  as  makes  out-of-door  exercise  impossible — 
was  always  an  affliction  to  Lady  Mary.  Her  delight  was_  in 
open  air  and  sunshine — fishing  in  the  lake  and  rivers — sitting 
in  some  sheltered  hollow  of  the  hills,  more  fitting  for  an  eagle's 
nest  than  for  the  occupation  of  a  young  lady,  trying  to  paint 
those  ever-varying,  unpaintable  mountain  slopes,  which  change 
their  hues  with  every  change  of  the  sky — swimming,  riding, 
roving  far  and  wide  over  hill  and  heather — pleasures  all  more 
or  less  masculine  in  their  nature,  and  which  were  a  subject  of 
regret  with  Lady  Maulevrier. 

Lady  Lesbia  was  of  a  different  temper.  She  loved  ease  and 
elegance,  the  gracious  luxuries  of  life — she  loved  art  and  music, 
but  not  to  labor  hard  at  either.  She  played  and  sang  a  little — 
excellently  within  that  narrow  compass  which  she  had  allotted 
to  herself — played  Mendelssohn's  "Lieder"  exquisitely,  with 
finished  touch  and  faultless  accent,  sang  Heine's  ballads  with 
consummate  expression.  She  painted  not  at  all.  Why  should 
any  one  draw  or  paint  indifferently,  she  asked,  when  Providence 
has  furnished  the  world  with  so  many  great  painters  in  the  past 
and  present  ?  She  could  not  understand  Mary's  ardent  desire 
to   do  the  thing  herself — to  be  able  with  her  own  pencil  and 


28  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

her  own  brush  to  reproduce  the  lakes  and  valleys,  the  wild 
brown  hills  she  loved  so  passionately.  Lesbia  did  not  care 
two  straws  for  the  lovely  lake  district  amidst  which  she 
had  been  reared — every  pike  and  force,  every  beck  and  gill 
M'hereof  was  distinctly  dear  to  her  younger  sister.  She  thought 
it  a  very  hard  thing  to  have  spent  so  much  of  her  life  at  Fell- 
side,  a  trial  that  would  have  hardly  been  endurable  if  it  were 
not  for  grandmamma.  Grandmamma  and  Lesbia  adored  each 
other.  Lesbia  was  the  one  person  in  the  world  for  whom  Lady 
Maulevrier's  stateliness  was  subjugated  by  perfect  love.  To  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  the  Countess  was  marble,  but  to  Lesbia 
she  was  wax.  Lesbia  could  mold  her  as  she  pleased ;  but 
happily  Lesbia  was  not  the  kind  of  young  person  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  privilege  ;  she  was  thoroughly  ductile  or  docile, 
and  had  no  desire,  at  present,  which  ran  counter  to  her  grand- 
mother. 

Lesbia  was  a  beauty.  In  her  nineteenth  year  she  was  a  curi- 
ous reproduction  in  face  and  figure,  expression  and  carriage, 
of  that  Lady  Diana  Angersthorpe  who  four-and-forty  years  ago 
fluttered  the  dove-cotes  of  St  James's  and  May  Fair  by  her  brill- 
iant beauty  and  her  wit.  There  in  the  paneled  drawing-room 
at  Fellside  hung  Harlow's  portrait  of  Lady  Diana  in  her  zenith, 
in  her  short-waisted,  white  satin  frock,  with  large  puffed  gauze 
sleeves,  through  which  the  perfect  arm  shows  dimly.  Standing 
under  that  picture  Lady  Lesbia  looked  as  if  she  had  stepped 
out  of  the  canvas.  She  was  to  be  painted  by  Millais  next  year. 
Lady  Maulevrier  said,  when  she  had  been  introduced,  and  soci- 
ety was  beginning  to  talk  about  her  :  for  Lady  Maulevrier  made 
up  her  mind  five  or  six  years  ago  that  Lesbia  should  be  the 
reigning  beauty  of  her  season.  To  this  end  she  had  educated 
and  trained  her,  furnishing  her  with  all  those  graces  best  calcu- 
lated to  please  and  astonish  society.  She  was  too  clever  a 
woman  not  to  discover  Lesbia's  shallowness  and  lack  of  all 
great  gifts,  save  that  one  peerless  dower  of  perfect  beauty. 
She  knew  exactly  what  Lesbia  could  be  trained  to  do;  and  to 
this  end  Lesbia  had  been  educated  ;  and  to  this  end  Lady  Mau- 
levrier brought  down  to  Fellside  the  most  accomplished  of  Han- 
overian governesses,  w-ho  had  learned  French  in  Paris  and  who 
had  toiled  in  the  educational  mill  with  profit  to  herself  and  her  pu- 
pils for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  To  this  lady  the  Countess  in- 
trusted her  granddaughters'  minds,  while  for  their  physical  train- 
ing she  provided  another  teacher  in  the  person  of  a  clever  little 
Parisian  dancing  mistress,  who  had  set  up  at  the  West  End  of 
London  as  a  teacher  of  dancing  and  calisthenics,  and  had  ut 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  29 

terly  failed  to  find  pupils  enough  to  pay  her  rent  and  keep  her 
modest  pot-au-feu  going.  Mademoiselle  was  very  glad  to  ex- 
change the  uncertainties  of  a  first  floor  in  North  Audley  Street 
for  the  comfort  and  security  of  Fellside  Manor  with  a  salary  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year. 

Both  Fraulein  and  Mademoiselle  had  been  quick  to  discover 
that  Lady  Lesbia  was  the  apple  of  her  grandmother's  eye, 
while  Lady  Mary  was  comparatively  an  outsider. 

So  it  came  about  that  Mary's  education  was  in  somewise  a 
mere  picking-up  of  the  crumbs  which  fell  from  Lesbia's  table, 
and  that  she  was  allowed  in  a  general  way  to  run  wild.  She 
was  much  quicker  at  learning  than  Lesbia,  learned  the  lessons 
that  were  given  her  at  railroad  speed,  and  rattled  off  her  exer- 
cises with  a  slapdash  penmanship,  which  horrified  the  neat  and 
niggling  Fraulein,  and  then  rushed  off  to  the  lake  or  mountain, 
and  by  this  means  grew  browner  and  browner,  and  more  indeli- 
bly freckled,  day  by  day,  thus  widening  the  gulf  between  her 
and  her  beauty  sister. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  because  Lesbia  was  beauti- 
ful, Mary  was  plain.  This  is  very  far  from  the  truth.  Mary 
had  splendid  hazel  eyes,  with  a  dancing  light  in  them  when  she 
smiled,  ruddy  auburn  hair,  white  teeth,  a  deeply-dimpled  chin, 
and  a  vivacity  and  archness  of  expression  which  served  only  in 
her  present  state  of  tutelage  for  the  subjugation  of  old  women 
and  peasant  boys.  Mary  had  been  taught  to  believe  that  her 
chances  of  future  promotion  were  of  the  smallest ;  that  no  one 
would  even  talk  of  her,  or  think  of  her,  by  and  by,  when  she 
in  her  turn  would  make  her  appearance  in  London  society,  and 
that  it  would  be  a  very  happy  thing  for  her  if  she  were  so  for- 
tunate as  to  attract  the  attention  of  a  fashionable  physician,  a 
cannon  of  Westminster  or  St.  Paul's,  or  a  barrister  in  good  prac- 
tice.    Mary  turned  up  her  pert  little  nose  at  this  humdrum  lot. 

"  I  would  much  rather  spend  all  my  life  among  these  dear 
hills  than  marry  a  nobody  in  London,"  she  said,  fearless  of  that 
grand  old  lady  at  whose  frown  so  many  people  shivered.  "  If 
you  don't  think  people  will  like  me,  and  admire  me — a  little 
— you  had  better  save  yourself  the  trouble  of  taking  me  to 
London.     I  don't  want  to  play  second  fiddle  to  my  sister !  " 

"You  are  a  very  impertinent  person,  and  deserve  to  be  taken 
at  your  word,"  replied  my  Lady,  scowling  at  her;  "but  I  have 
no  doubt  before  you  are  twenty  you  will  tell  another  story." 

"Oh!"  said  Mary,  now  just  turned  seventeen  ;  "then  I  am 
not  to  go  out  till  I  am  twenty." 

"  That  will  be.  soon  enough,"  answered  the  Countess.     "  It 


3® 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


will  take  you  as  long  to  get  rid  of  those  odious  freckles.  And 
no  doubt  by  that  time  Lesbia  will  have  made  a  brilliant  mar- 
riage." 

And  now  on  this  rainy  July  morning  these  two  girls,  neither 
of  whom  had  any  serious  employment  for  her  life,  or  any  serious 
purpose  in  living,  wasted  the  hours,  each  in  her  own  fash- 
ion. 

Lesbia  reclined  upon  a  cushioned  seat  in  the  deep  embrasure 
of  a  Tudor  window,  her  pose  perfection — it  was  one  of  many 
poses  which  Mademoiselle  has  taught  her,  and  which,  by  assid- 
uous training,  had  become  a  second  nature.  Poor  Mademoiselle, 
having  finished  her  mission  and  taught  Lesbia  all  she  could 
teach,  had  now  departed  to  a  new  and  far  less  luxurious  situa- 
tion in  a  finishing  school  at  Passy;  but  Fraulein  Kirsch  was 
still  retained,  as  watch-dog  and  duenna. 

Lesbia's  pale-blue  morning  gown  contrasted  exquisitely  with 
a  complexion  of  lilies  and  roses,  violet  eyes,  and  golden  brown 
hair.  Her  features  were  distinguished  by  that  perfect  chiseling 
which  gave  such  a  haughty  grace  to  her  grandmother's  counte- 
nance, even  at  sixty-sev'^en  years  of  age — a  loveliness  which,  like 
the  marble  loveliness  it  suggests,  is  unalterable  by  time.  Les- 
bia was  reading  Keats.  It  was  her  habit  to  read  the  poets,  care- 
fully and  deliberately,  taking  up  one  at  a  time,  and  duly  laying 
a  volume  aside  when  she  found  herself  mistress  of  its  contents. 
She  had  no  passion  for  poetry,  but  it  was  an  elegant  leisurely 
kind  of  reading  which  suited  her  languid  temperament.  More- 
over, her  grandmother  had  told  her  that  an  easy  familiarity 
with  the  great  poets  of  all  time  is  of  all  knowledge  that  which 
best  qualifies  a  woman  to  shine  in  conversation,  without  offend- 
ing the  Superior  sex  by  any  assumption  of  scholarship. 

"Mary  was  a  very  different  class  of  reader,  omnivorous  tearing 
out  the  hearts  of  books,  roaming  from  flower  to  flower  in  the 
fields  of  literature,  loving  old  and  new,  romance  and  reality, 
novels,  travels,  plays,  poetry,  and  never  dwelling  long  on  any 
one  theme.  Perhaps  if  Mary  had  lived  in  the  bosom  of  a  par- 
ticularly sympathetic  family  she  might  have  been  reckoned 
almost  a  genius,  so  much  of  poetry  and  originality  was  there  in 
her  free,  unconventional  character,  but  hitherto  it  had  been 
Mary's  mission  in  life  to  be  snubbed,  whereby  she  had  acquired 
a  very  poor  opinion  of  her  own  talents. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried  with  a  desperate  yawn,  while  Lesbia  smiled 
her  languid  smile  over  Endymion,  "how  I  wish  something  would 
happen — anything  to  stir  us  out  of  this  statuesque,  sleeping- 
beauty  state  of  being.     I  verily  believe  the  spiders  are  all  asleep 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  31 

in  the  ivy,  and  the  mice  behind  the  wainscot,  and  the  horses  in 
the  stable." 

"  What  could  happen  ?  "  asked  Lesbia,  with  a  gentle  eleva- 
tion of  penciled  brows.     "  Are  not  these  lovely  lines, 

*  And  coverlids  gold-tinted  like  the  peach, 
Or  ripe  October's  faded  marigolds, 
Fell  sleek  about  him  in  a  thousand  folds  ? ' 

Faded  marigolds  !  Is  not  that  intensely  sweet  ?  " 

"  Very  well  for  your  sleepy  Keats,  but  I  don't  suppose  you 
would  have  noticed  the  passage  if  marigolds  were  not  in  fashion," 
said  Mary,  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "  What  could  happen  t  Why 
a  hundred  things — an  earthquake,  flood  or  fire.  What  could 
happen,  do  you  say,  Lesbia.-*  Why,  Maulevrier  might  come 
home  unexpectedly,  and  charm  us  out  of  this  death-in-life." 

''  He  would  occasion  a  good  deal  of  unpleasantness  if  he  did," 
answered  Lesbia  coldly.  "  You  know  how  angry  he  has  made 
grandmother." 

"  Because  he  keeps  racehorses  which  have  an  unlucky  knack 
of  losing,"  said  Mary,  dubiously.  "  I  suppose  if  his  horses  won 
grandmother  would  rather  approve  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  That  would  make  hardly  any  difference,  except 
that  he  would  not  ruin  himself  quite  so  quickly.  Grandmother 
says  that  a  young  man  who  goes  on  the  turf  is  sure  to  be  ruined 
sooner  or  later.  And  then  Maulevrier's  habits  are  altogether 
wild  and  foolish.  It  is  very  hard  upon  grandmother,  who  has 
such  noble  ambition  for  all  of  us." 

*'  Not  for  me,"  answered  Mury  smiling.  "  Her  views  about 
me  are  very  humble.  She  considers  that  I  shall  be  most  fortu- 
nate if  a  doctor  or  a  lawyer  condescend  to  like  me  well  enough 
to  make  me  an  offer.  He  might  make  me  the  offer  without 
liking  me,  for  the  sake  of  hearing  himself  announced  as  Mr.  and 
Lady  Mary  Snooks  at  dinner  parties.  That  would  be  too  horrid, 
but  I  dare  say  such  things  have  happened." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Mary,"  said  Lesbia,  loftily.  "  There 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  make  a  really  good  marriage 
if  you  follow  grandmother's  advice  and  don't  affect  eccentricity." 

"  I  don't  affect  eccentricity,  but  I'm  afraid  I  really  am  eccen- 
tric," murmured  Mary,  meekly,  "for  I  like  so  many  things  I 
ought  not  to  like,  and  detest  so  many  things  which  I  ought  to 
admire." 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  have  tamed  down  a  little  before  you  are 
presented,"  said  Lesbia,  carelessly. 

She  could  not  even  affect  a  profound  interest  in  anv  one  but 


32  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

herself.  She  had  a  narrowness  of  mental  vision  which  pre- 
vented her  looking  beyond  the  limited  circle  of  her  own  pleasures, 
her  own  desires,  her  own  dreams  and  hopes  She  was  one  of 
those  strictly  correct  young  women  who  was  never  likely  to  do 
any  harm  in  the  world,  but  who  was  just  as  unlikely  ever  to  do 
any  good.  Mary  sighed,  and  went  back  to  her  book,  a  bulky 
volume  of  travels,  and  tried  to  lose  herself  in  the  sandy  wastes 
of  Africa,  and  lo  be  deeply  interested  in  the  sources  of  the  Congo, 
not,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  caring  a  straw  whether  that  far  away 
river  comes  from  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon,  or  from  the  moon 
itself.  To-day  she  could  not  pin  her  mind  to  pages  which  had 
interested  at  another  time.  Her  thoughts  were  with  Lord  Mau- 
levrier,  that  fondly  loved  only  brother,  just  seven  years  her  sen- 
ior, who  had  taken  to  racehorses  and  bad  ways,  and  was  trying 
his  hardest  to  dissipate  the  splendid  fortune  which  his  grand- 
mother, the  Dowager  Countess,  nursed  so  judiciously  during 
his  long  minority.  Maulevrier  and  Mary  had  always  been  what 
the  young  man  called  "  no  end  of  chums." 

He  called  her  his  brown-eyed  Molly,  much  to  the  annoyance 
of  Lady  Maulevrier  and  Lesbia,  and  Mary's  life  was  all  gladness 
when  Maulevrier  was  at  Fellside.  She  devoted  herself  wholly 
to  his  amusements,  rode  and  drove  with  him,  followed  on  her 
famous  pony  when  he  went  otter  hunting,  and  very  often  aban- 
doned the  pony  to  the  care  of  some  stray  mountain  youth  in  or- 
der to  join  the  hunters,  and  go  leaping  from  stone  to  stone  on 
the  margin  of  .the  stream,  and  occasionally,  in  moments  of  wild 
excitement,  when  the  hounds  were  in  full  cry,  splashing  in  and 
out  of  the  water,  like  a  naiad  in  a  short  riding  skirt. 

Mary  looked  after  Maulevrier's  stable  when  he  was  away,  and 
had  supreme  command  of  a  kennel  of  fox-terriers  which  cost  her 
brother  more  money  than  the  Countess  would  have  cared  to 
know,  for  in  the  wide  area  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  ambition  there 
was  no  room  for  two  hundred  guinea  fox-terriers,  were  they  never 
so  perfect. 

Altogether,  Mary's  life  was  a  different  life  when  her  brother 
was  at  home  ;  and  in  his  absence  the  best  part  of  her  days 
were  spent  in  thinking  about  him  and  fulfilling  the  duties  of  her 
position  as  his  representative  in  stable  and  kennel,  and  among 
certain  rustics  in  the  district,  chiefly  of  the  sporting  type,  who 
were  Maulevrier's  chosen  allies  or  proteges. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  two  girls  of  patrician  lineage  lived  a 
more  secluded  life  than  Lady  Maulevrier's  granddaughters. 
They  had  known  no  pleasures  beyond  the  narrow  sphere  of  home 
and  home  friends.     They  had  never  traveled— they  had  seen 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  33 

hardly  anything  of  the  outside  world.  They  had  never  been  to 
London  or  Paris,  or  to  any  city  larger  than  York ;  and  their 
visits  to  that  center  of  dissipation  had  been  of  the  briefest,  a 
mere  flash  of  mild  gayety,  a  race  meeting,  an  oratorio,  and  back 
by  express  train,  closely  guarded  by  governess  and  footmen  to 
Fellside.  In  the  Autumn,  when  the  leaves  were  falling  in  the 
wooded  grounds  of  Fellside,  the  young  ladies  were  sent,  still 
under  guardianship  of  governesses  and  footmen,  to  some  quiet 
seaside  resort  between  Alnwick  and  Edinburgh,  where  Mary 
lived  the  wild  free  life  she  loved,  roaming  about  the  beach,  boat- 
ing, shrimping,  sea-weed  gathering,  making  hard  work  for  the 
governesses  and  footmen  who  had  been  sent  in  charge  of  her. 

Lady  Maulevrier  never  accompanied  her  granddaughters  on 
these  occasions.  She  was  a  vigorous  old  woman,  straight  as  a 
dart,  slim  as  a  girl,  active  in  her  degree  as  any  young  athlete 
among  those  hills,  and  she  declared  that  she  never  felt  the  need 
of  change  of  air.  The  sodden  shrubberies,  the  falling  leaves  did 
her  no  harm.  Never  within  the  memory  of  this  generation  had 
she  left  Fellside.  Her  love  of  this  mountainous  retreat  was  a 
kind  of  cult.  She  had  come  here  broken-spirited,  perhaps 
broken-hearted,  bringing  her  dead  husband  from  the  little  inn 
at  Langdale,  forty  years  ago,  and  she  had  hardly  left  the  spot 
since  that  day. 

In  those  days  Fellside  House  was  a  very  different  kind  of 
dwelling  from  the  gracious,  modern  Tudor  mansion  which  now 
crowned  and  beautified  the  hillside  above  Grasmere  Lakes.  It 
was  then  an  old  rambling  cottage,  with  queer  little  rooms  and 
inconvenient  passages,  low  ceilings,  thatched 'gables,  and  all 
manner  of  strange  nooks  and  corners.  Lady  Maulevrier  was  of 
too  strictly  conservative  a  temper  to  think  of  pulling  down  an  old 
house  which  had  been  in  her  husband's  family  for  generations. 
She  left  the  original  cottage  undisturbed,  and  built  her  new 
house  at  right  angles  with  it,  connecting  the  two  with  a  wide 
passage  below  and  a  handsome  corridor  above,  so  that  access 
should  be  perfect  in  the  event  of  her  requiring  the  accommoda- 
tion of  the  old,  quaint,  low-ceiled  rooms  for  her  family  or  her 
guests.  During  forty  years  no  such  necessity  had  ever  arisen, 
but  the  old  house  known  as  the  south  wing  was  still  left  intact, 
the  original  furniture  undisturbed,  although  the  only  occupants 
of  the  building  were  her  Ladyship's  faithful  old  house  steward, 
James  Steadman,  and  his  elderly  wife. 

_jrhe  house  which  Lady  Maulevrier  had  built  for  herself  and 
her  grandchildren  had  not  been  created  all  at  once,  though  the 
nucleus  dating  forty  years  back  was  a  handsome  building.     She 
3 


34  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

had  added  more  rooms  as  necessity  or  fancy  dictated — now  a 
library  with  bedrooms  over  it ;  now  a  music  room  for  Lady  Les- 
bia  and  her  grand  piano — anon  a  bilUard  room,  as  an  agreeable 
surprise  for  Maulevrier  when  he  came  home  after  a  tour  in  Amer- 
ica. Thus  the  house  had  grown  into  a  long,  low  pile  of  Tudor 
masonry — steep  gables,  heavily  mullioned  casements,  gray 
stone  walls,  curtained  with  the  rich  growth  of  passion-flower, 
magnolia,  clematis,  myrtle  and  roses — and  all  those  flowers  which 
thrive  and  flourish  in  that  mild  and  sheltered  spot. 

The  views  from  those  mullioned  casements  were  perfect. 
Switzerland  could  give  hardly  any  more  exquisite  picture  than 
that  lake  shut  in  by  hills,  grand  and  bold  in  their  varied  outlines, 
so  rich  in  their  coloring  that  the  eye,  dazzled  with  beauty,  for- 
got to  calculate  the  actual  height  of  .those  craggy  peaks  and 
headlands,  the  mind  forgot  to  despise  them  because  they  were 
not  so  lofty  as  Mont  Blanc  or  the  Matterhorn.  The  velvet 
sward  of  the  hill  sloped  steeply  downward  from  Lady  Maulevrier's 
drawing-room  windows  to  the  road  beside  the  lake,  and  this 
road  was  so  hidden  by  the  wooded  screen  which  bounded  her 
Ladyship's  grounds  that  the  lake  seemed  to  lie  in  the  green  heart 
of  her  gardens,  a  lovely,  placid  lake  on  summer  days,  reflecting 
the  emerald  lines  of  the  surrounding  hills,  and  looking  like  a 
smooth,  green  meadow,  which  invited  the  foot  passenger  to  cross 
it. 

The  house  was  approached  by  a  winding  carriage-drive  that 
led  up  and  up  and  up  from  the  road  beside  the  lake,  so  screened 
and  sheltered  by  shrubberies  and  pine  woods  that  the  stranger 
knew  not  whither  he  was  going  till  he  came  upon  an  opening  in 
the  wood,  and  the  stately  Italian  garden  in  front  of  a  massive 
stone  porch,  through  which  he  entered  a  spacious  oak  paneled 
hall,  and  anon,  descending  a  step  or  two,  he  found  himself  in 
Lady  Maulevrier's  drawing-room,  and  face  to  face  with  that 
divine  view  of  the  everlasting  hills,  the  lake  shining  below  him, 
bathed  in  sunlight. 

Or  if  it  were  the  stranger's  evil  fate  to  come  in  wet  weather, 
he  saw  only  a  rain-blotted  landscape — the  blurred  outlines  of 
gray  mountain  peaks  scowling  at  him  from  the  other  side  of  a 
gray  pool.  But  if  the  picture  without  were  depressing,  the 
picture  within  was  always  good  to  look  upon,  for  those  oak- 
paneled  or  tapestried  rooms,  communicating  by  richl3'-curtained 
doorways  from  drawing-room  to  library,  from  library  to  billiard- 
room,  were  as  lovely  as  wealth  and  taste  could  make  them. 
Lady  Maulevrier  argued  that  as  there  was  but  one  house  among 
all  the  possessions  of  her  race  which  she  cared  to  inhabit,  she 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  35 

had  a  right  to  make  that  house  beautiful,  and  she  had  spared 
nothing  upon  the  beautification  of  Fell  side  ;  and  yet  she  had 
spent  much  less  than  would  have  been  squandered  by  any 
pleasure-loving  dowager,  restlessly  roving  from  Piccadilly  to  the 
Engadine,  from  Pontresina  to  Nice  or  Monaco,  winding  up  with 
Easter  in  Paris,  and  then  back  to  Piccadilly.  Her  Ladyship's 
friends  wondered  that  she  could  care  to  bury  herself  alive  in 
Westmoreland,  and  expatiated  on  the  eccentricity  of  such  a  life  ; 
nay,  those  who  had  never  seen  Fellside  argued  that  Lady 
Maulevrier  had  taken  in  her  old  age  to  hoarding  and  that  she 
pigged  at  a  cottage  in  the  Lake  district  in  order  to  swell  a  fort- 
une which  young  Maulevrier  would  set  about  squandering  as 
soon  as  she  was  in  her  coffin.  But  here  they  were  wrong.  It  was 
not  in  Lady  Maulevrier's  nature  to  lead  a  sordid  life  in  order  to  save 
money.  Yet  in  those  quiet  years  that  were  gone — starting  with 
that  golden  nucleus  which  Lord  Maulevrier  had  brought  home 
from  India,  obtained  no  one  knows  how,  the  Countess  had 
amassed  one  of  the  largest  fortunes  in  actual  hard  cash  pos- 
sessed by  any  member  of  the  peerage.  She  had  it,  and  she  held 
it  with  a  grasp  that  nothing  but  death  could  loosen ;  nay,  that 
all-foreseeing  mind  of  hers  might  contrive  to  cheat  grim  death 
itself,  and  to  scheme  a  way  for  protecting  this  wealth  even  when 
she  who  had  gathered  and  garnered  it  should  be  moldering  in 
her  grave.  The  entailed  estates  belonged  to  Maulevrier,  were 
he  never  such  a  fool  or  spendthrift,  but  this  fortune  of  the 
dowager's  was  her  own,  to  dispose  of  as  she  pleased,  and  not  a 
penny  of  it  was  likely  to  go  to  the  young  earl. 

Her  granddaughter,  Lesbia,  was  Lady  Maulevrier's  rock  of 
defense  against  future  follies.  She  should  be  the  inheritress  of 
this  noble  fortune — she  should  spread  and  widen  the  power  of 
the  Maulevrier  race.  Her  son  should  link  the  family  name  with 
the  name  of  his  father ;  and  if  by  any  hazard  of  fate  the  pres- 
ent earl  should  die  young  and  childless  the  old  countess'  in- 
terest should  be  strained  to  the  uttermost  to  obtain  the  title  for 
Lesbia's  offspring.  Why  should  she  not  be  Countess  of  Mau- 
levrier in  her  own  right?  But  in  order  to  make  this  future 
possible  the  most  important  factor  in  the  sum  was  yet  to  be 
found  in  the  person  of  a  husband  for  Lady  Lesbia — a  husband 
worthy  of  peerless  beauty  and  exceptional  wealth,  a  husband 
whose  own  fortune  should  be  so  important  as  to  make  him  above 
suspicion.  That  was  Lady  Maulevrier's  scheme — to  wed  wealth 
to  wealth — to  double  or  quadruple  the  fortune  she  had  built  up 
in  the  long  slow  years  of  her  widowhood,  and  thus  to  make  her 
granddaughter  one  of  the  greatest  ladies  in  the  land  ;  for  it  need 


36  PHA NTQM  FOR  TUNE. 

hardly  be  said  that  the  man  who  was  to  wed  Lady  Lesbia  must 
be  her  equal  in  rank,  if  not  her  superior. 

Lady  Maulevrier  was  not  a  miser.  She  was  liberal  and  be- 
nevolent to  all  who  came  within  the  circle  of  her  life.  Wealth 
for  its  own  sake  she  valued  not  a  jot.  But  she  lived  in  an  age 
in  which  wealth  is  power,  and  ambition  was  her  ruling  passion. 
As  she  had  been  ambitious  for  her  husband  in  the  days  that 
were  gone,  she  was  now  ambitious  for  her  granddaughter.  Time 
had  intensified  the  keen  eagerness  of  her  mind.  She  had  been 
disappointed,  cruelly,  bitterly,  in  the  ambition  of  her  youth.  She 
had  been  made  to  drink  the  cup  of  shame  and  humiliation.  But 
to  this  ambition  of  her  old  age  she  held  with  even  greater  te- 
nacity.    God  help  her  if  she  should  be  disappointed  here. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  so  astute  a  schemer  as  Lady 
Maulevrier  had  not  surveyed  the  marriage  market  in  order  to 
discover  that  fortunate  youth  who  should  be  deemed  worthy  to 
become  the  winner  of  Lesbia's  hand.  Years  ago,  when  Lesbia 
was  still  in  the  nursery,  the  dowager  had  made  herself  informed 
of  the  age,  weight  and  colors  of  every  likely  runner  in  the  mat- 
rimonial stakes,  or,  in  plainer  words,  had  kept  herself  by  her 
correspondence  with  a  few  intimate  friends,  and  her  close  study 
of  the  fashionable  newspapers,  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
character  and  exploits,  the  disposition  and  antecedents  of  those 
half-dozen  eldest  sons,  among  whom  she  hoped  to  fine  Lesbia's 
lord  and  master.  She  knew  her  peerage  by  heart,  and  knew  the 
family  history  of  every  house  recorded  therein ;  the  sins  and 
weaknesses,  the  follies  and  losses  of  bygone  years ;  the  taints, 
mental  and  physical ;  the  lateral  branches  and  intermarriages, 
the  runaway  wives  and  unfaithful  husbands ;  idiot  sons  or 
scrofulous  daughters.  She  knew  everything  that  was  to  be 
known  about  that  aristocratic  world  into  which  she  had  been 
born  sixty-seven  years  ago,  and  the  sum  total  of  her  knowledge 
was  that  there  was  one  man,  and  one  only,  whom  she  desired 
for  her  granddaughter's  husband — one  man,  and  one  only,  into 
whose  hands,  when  earth  and  sea  and  sky  were  melting  from 
her  glassy  eyes,  she  could  be  content  to  resign  the  sceptre  of 
power. 

There  was  no  doubt  half  a  dozen  or  more,  in  the  list  of  elder 
sons,  who  were  fairly  eligible.  But  this  young  man  was  the 
Achilles  in  the  rank  and  file  of  chivalry,  and  her  soul  3^earned 
to  have  him  and  no  other  for  her  darling. 

Her  soul  yearned  to  him  with  a  tenderness  which  was  not  all 
on  Lesbia's  account.  Forty-nine  years  ago  she  had  fondly  loved 
his  father — loved  him  and  had  been  fain  to  renounce  him ;  for 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  37 

Ronald  Hollister,  afterward  Lord  Hartfield,  was  then  a  younger 
son,  and  the  two  families  had  agreed  that  marriage  between 
paupers  was  an  impudent  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence,  which 
must  be  put  down  with  an  iron  hand.  Lord  Hartfield  sent  his 
son  to  Turkey  in  the  diplomatic  service,  and  the  old  dowager 
Lady  Carrisbrook  whisked  her  niece  off  to  London,  and  kept  her 
there  under  watch  and  ward  till  Lord  Maulevrier  had  proposed 
and  been  accepted  by  her.  There  should  be  no  foolishness,  no 
clandestine  correspondence.  The  iron  hand  had  crushed  two 
young  hearts,  and  secured  a  brilliant  future  for  the  bodies  which 
survived. 

Ten  years  later  Ronald's  elder  brother  died  unmarried.  He 
abandoned  that  career  of  vagrant  diplomacy  which  had  taken 
him  all  over  Europe  and  America,  and  reappeared  in  London, 
the  most  elegant  man  of  his  era,  but  thoroughly  blase  There 
were  rumors  of  an  unhappy  attachment  in  the  Faubourg  Saint 
Germain ;  of  a  tragedy  at  Petersburg.  Society  protested  that 
Lord  Hartfield  would  die  a  bachelor,  as  his  brother  died  before 
him.  The  HoUisters  are  not  a  marrying  family,  said  Society. 
But  six  or  seven  years  after  his  return  to  England  Lord  Hart- 
field married  Lady  Florence  Ilmington,  a  beauty  in  her  first  sea- 
son, and  a  very  sweet  but  somewhat  mindless  young  person. 
The  marriage  resulted  in  the  birth  of  an  heir,  whose  appearance 
upon  this  mortal  stage  was  followed  within  a  year  by  his  father's 
exit.  Hence  the  Hartfield  property,  always  a  fine  estate,  had 
been  nursed  and  fattened  during  a  long  minority,  and  the  pres- 
ent Lord  Hartfield  was  reputed  one  of  the  richest  young  men  of 
his  time.  He  was  also  spoken  of  as  a  superior  person,  inheriting 
all  his  father's  intellectual  gifts,  and  having  the  reputation  of 
being  singularly  free  from  the  vices  of  profligate  youth.  He  was 
neither  prig  nor  pedant,  and  he  was  very  popular  in  the  best 
society ;  but  he  was  not  ashamed  to  let  it  be  seen  that  his  am- 
bition soared  higher  than  the  fashionable  world  of  turf  and  stable, 
cards  and  pigeon  matches. 

Though  not  of  the  gay  world,  nor  in  it.  Lady  Maulevrier  had 
contrived  to  keep  herself  thoroughly  en  rapport  with  fashion. 
Her  few  chosen  friends,  with  whom  she  corresponded  on  terms 
of  perfect  confidence,  were  among  the  best  people  in  London — 
not  the  circulators  of  club-house  canards,  the  pickers-up  of  sec- 
ond-hand gossip  from  the  society  papers,  but  actors  in  the  com- 
edy of  high  life,  arbiters  of  fashion  and  taste,  born  and  bred  in 
the  purple. 

Last  season  Lord  Hartfield's  absence  had  cast  a  cloud  over  the 
matrimonial  horizon.     He  had  been  a  traveler  for  more  than  a 


38  PHANlVM  FORTUNE. 

year — Patagonia,  Peru,  the  Pyramids,  Japan,  the  North  Pole — 
society  oared  not  where — the  fact  that  he  was  gone  was  all-suffi- 
cient.' Bachelors  a  shade  less  eligible  came  to  the  front  in  his 
absence  and  became  first  favorites.  Lady  Maulevrier,  well  in- 
formed in  advance,  had  deferred  Lesbia's  presentation  till  next 
season,  when  she  was  told  Lord  Hartfield  would  certainly  reap- 
pear. His  plans  had  been  made  for  return  before  Christmas, 
and  it  would  seem  that  his  plan  of  life  was  laid  down  with  as 
much  precision  as  if  he  had  been  a  prince  of  the  blood  royal. 
Thus  it  happened,  to  Lesbia's  intense  disgust,  that  her  debut 
was  deferred  till  the  verge  of  her  twentieth  birthday.  It  would 
never  do.  Lady  Maulevrier  told  herself,  for  the  edge  to  be  taken 
off  the  effect  which  Lesbia's  beauty  was  to  make  on  society  dur- 
ing Lord  Hartfield's  absence.  He  must  be  there,  on  the  spot, 
to  see  this  star  rise  gently  and  slowly  above  society's  horizon, 
and  to  mark  how  everybody  bowed  down  and  worshiped  the 
new  light. 

"  I  shall  be  an  old  woman  before  I  appear  in  society,"  said 
Lesbia  petulantly ;  "  and  I  shall  be  like  a  wild  woman  of  the 
woods,  for  I  have  seen  nothing  and  know  nothing  of  the  civilized 
world." 

"  You  will  be  ever  so  much  more  attractive  than  the  young 
women  I  hear  of,  who  have  seen  and  known  a  great  deal  too 
much,"  answered  the  dowager  ;  and  as  her  granddaughter  knew 
that  Lady  Maulevrier's  word  was  as  the  law  of  the  Medes  and 
Persians,  there  were  no  more  idle  repinings. 

Her  Lad3'ship  gave  no  reason  for  the  postponement  of  Lesbia's 
presentation.  She  was  far  too  diplomatic  to  breathe  a  word  of 
her  ideas  with  regard  to  Lord  Hartfield.  Anything  like  a  mat- 
rimonial scheme  would  naturally  have  been  revolting  to  Lesbia, 
who  had  grand  but  not  sordid  views  about  matrimony.  She 
thought  it  her  mission  to  appear,  and  to  conquer.  A  crowd  of 
suitors  would  sigh  around  her,  like  the  loves  and  graces  round 
that  fair  Belinda,  whose  story  she  had  read  so  often,  and  it  would 
be  her  part  to  choose  the  most  worthy.  The  days  are  gone 
when  a  girl  would  so  much  as  look  at  Sir  Plume.  Her  virgin 
fancy  demands  the  Tennysonian  ideal,  the  grave  and  knightly 
Arthur. 

But  when  Lesbia  thought  of  the  most  worthy,  it  was  always 
the  worthiest  in  her  own  particular  sphere  ;  and  he  of  course 
would  be  titled  and  wealthy,  and  altogether  fitted  to  be  her  hus- 
band. He  would  take  her  by  the  hand  and  lead  her  to  a  higher 
seat  on  the  dais,  and  place  upon  her  head,  or  at  least  upon  her 
letter-pai)er  and  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  a  coronet  in  which 


FHANTOM  FORTUNE.  39 

the  strawberry  leaves  should  stand  out  more  prominently  than 
in  her  brother's  emblazonment.  Lesbia's  mind  could  not  con- 
ceive an  ignoble  marriage,  or  the  possibility  of  the  most  worthy 
happening  to  be  found  in  a  lower  circle  than  her  own. 

And  now  it  was  the  end  of  July,  and  the  season  which  should 
have  been  glorified  by  Lady  Lesbia's  debut  was  over  and  done 
with.  She  had  read  in  the  society  papers  of  all  the  balls,  and 
birthdays,  and  race  meetings,  and  regattas,  and  cricket  matches, 
and  gowns,  and  parasols,  and  bonnets — what  this  beauty  wore 
on  such  an  occasion — and  how  that  other  beauty  looked  on 
another  occasion — and  she  felt  as  she  read  like  a  spell-bound 
princess  in  a  fairy  tale,  mewed  up  in  a  stony  bower,  and  deprived 
of  her  legitimate  share  in  all  the  pleasures  of  earth.  She  had  no 
patience  with  Mary — that  wild,  unkempt,  ungraceful  creature, 
who  could  be  as  happy  as  summer  days  are  long,  racing  about 
the  hills  with  her  bamboo  alpenstock,  rioting  with  a  pack  of  fox- 
terriers,  practicing  crack  shots  at  billiards,  rowing  on  the  lake, 
doing  all  things  unbecoming  Lady  Maulevrier's  granddaughter. 

That  long  rainy  day  dragged  its  slow  length  to  a  close,  and 
then  came  fine  days,  in  which  Molly  and  her  fox  terriers  went 
wandering  over  the  sun-lit  hills,  skipping  and  dancing  across  the 
mountain  streamlets — gills,  as  they  were  called  in  this  particu- 
lar world — almost  as  gayly  as  the  shadows  of  fleecy  cloudlets 
dancing  up  yonder  in  the  windy  sky.  Molly  spent  half  her  days 
among  the  hills,  stealing  off  from  governess  and  grandmother 
and  the  stately  beauty  sister,  and  sometimes  hardly  missed 
by  them,  so  ill  did  her  young  exuberance  harmonize  with  their 
calmer  life. 

"  One  can  tell  when  Mary  is  at  home  by  a  perpetual  banging 
of  doors,"  said  Lesbia,  which  was  a  sisterly  exaggeration  founded 
upon  fact,  for  Molly  was  given  to  impetuous  rushing  in  and  out 
of  rooms  when  that  eager  spirit  of  hers  impelled  the  light,  lithe 
body  upon  some  new  expedition.  Nor  is  the  society  of  fox-ter- 
riers conducive  to  repose  or  stateliness  of  movement ;  and  Mau- 
levrier's terriers,  although  strictly  forbidden  the  house,  were  for- 
ever breaking  band  and  leaping  in  upon  Molly's  retirement  at 
all  unreasonable  hours.  She  and  they  were  enchanted  to  get 
away  from  the  beautiful  luxurious  rooms,  and  to  go  roving  by 
hill  side  and  force  away  to  Easedale  Tarn  to  bask  for  hours  on 
the  grassy  margin  of  the  deep  still  water,  or  to  row  round  and 
round  the  mountain  lake  in  a  rotten  boat.  It  was  here,  or  in 
some  kindred  spot,  that  Molly  got  through  most  of  her  reading 
— here  that  she  read  Shakespeare,  Byron,  and  Shelley,  and 
^^'ordsworth — dwelling  lingeringly  and  lovingly  upon  every  line 


40  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

in  which  that  good  old  man  spoke  of  her  native  land.  Some- 
times she  climbed  to  higher  ground  and  felt  herself  ever  so  much 
nearer  heaven  upon  the  crest  of  Silver  Howe,  or  upon  the  rug- 
ged stony  steep  of  Dolly  Waggon  pike  half-way  up  the  dark  brow 
of  Helvellyn,  sometimes  she  had  disappeared  for  hours,  and  had 
climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  had  wandered  in  perilous 
pathways  on  Striding  Edge,  or  by  the  dark  still  water  of  the  red 
tarn.  This  had  been  her  life  ever  since  she  had  been  old  enough 
to  have  an  independent  existence,  and  the  hills,  and  the  lakes 
and  the  books  of  her  own  choosing  had  done  a  great  deal  more 
in  ripening  her  mind  than  Fraulein  Kirsch  and  that  admirable 
series  of  educational  works  which  has  been  provided  for  the  tu- 
ition of  modern  youth.  Grammars  and  geographies,  primers, 
and  elementary  works  of  ail  kinds  were  Mary's  detestation  ;  but 
she  loved  books  that  touched  her  heart  and  filled  her  mind  with 
thoughts  wide  and  deep  enough  to  reach  into  the  infinite  of  time 
and  space,  the  mystery  of  mind  and  matter,  life  and  death. 

Nothing  occurred  to  break  the  placid  monotony  of  life  at  Fell- 
side  for  three  long  days  after  that  rainy  morning  ;  and  then  came 
an  event  which,  although  commonplace  enough  in  itself,  marked 
the  beginning  of  a  new  era  in  the  existence  of  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  granddaughters. 

It  was  evening,  and  the  two  girls  were  dawdling  about  on  the 
sloping  lawn  before  the  drawing-room  windows,  while  Lady  Mau- 
levrier  read  the  newspapers  in  her  own  particular  chair  by  one 
of  those  broad  Tudor  windows,  according  to  her  infallible  cus- 
tom. Remote  as  her  life  had  been  from  the  busy  world,  her 
Ladyship  had  never  allowed  her  knowledge  of  public  life  and  the 
bent  of  modern  thought  to  fall  into  arrear.  She  took  a  keen 
interest  in  politics,  in  progress  of  all  kinds.  She  was  a  stanch 
Conservative,  and  looked  upon  every  Liberal  politician  as  her 
personal  enemy  ;  but  she  took  care  to  keep  herself  informed  of 
everything  that  w^as  being  said  or  done  in  the  enemy's  camp. 
She  had  an  intense  respect  for  Lord  Bacon's  maxim  :  Knowledge 
is  power.  It  was  a  kind  of  power  secondary  to  the  power  of 
wealth,  perhaps  ;  but  wealth  unprotected  by  wisdom  would  soon 
dwindle  into  poverty. 

Lady  Lesbia  sauntered  about  the  lawn,  looking  very  elegant 
in  her  cream-colored  Indian  silk  gown,  very  listless,  very  tired 
of  her  lovely  surroundings.  Neither  lake  nor  mountains  pos- 
sessed any  charm  for  her.  She  had  had  too  much  of  them, 
Mary  roamed  about  with  a  swifter  footstep,  looking  at  the  roses, 
plucking  off  a  dead  leaf  or  a  cankered  bud  here  and  there.  Pres- 
enlly  she  tore  across  the  lawn  to  the  shrubbery  which  screened 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  41 

the  lawn  and  flower  gardens  from  the  winding  carriage  drive 
sunk  many  feet  below,  and  disappeared  in  a  thicket  of  arbutus 
and  Irish  yew. 

"  What  terribly  hoydenish  manners,"  murmured  Lesbia,  with 
a  languid  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  as  she  strolled  back  to  the 
drawing-room. 

She  cared  very  little  for  the  newspapers,  for  politics  not  at  all, 
but  anything  was  better  than  everlasting  contemplation  of  the 
blue  still  water,  and  the  rugged  crest  of  Helm  Crag. 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  Mary  that  she  rushed  off  like  a 
madwoman  ? "  inquired  Lady  Maulevrier,  looking  up  from  the 
Times. 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea.  Mary's  movements  are  quite  be- 
yond the  limits  of  my  comprehension.  Perhaps  she  has  gone 
after  a  bird's  nest." 

Mary  was  intent  upon  no  bird's  nest.  Her  quick  ear  had 
caught  the  sound  of  manly  voices  in  the  winding  drive  under  the 
pine  wood  ;  and,  surely,  yes,  surely  one  was  a  dear  and  familiar 
voice,  which  heralded'the  coming  of  happiness.  In  such  a  mo- 
ment she  seemed  to  have  wings.  She  became  unconscious  that 
she  touched  the  earth,  she  went  skimming  bird-like  over  the  lawn, 
and  in  and  out,  with  fluttering  muslin  frock,  among  arbutus  and 
pine,  yew  and  laurel,  till  she  stood  poised  lightly  on  the  top  of 
the  wooded  bank  which  bordered  the  steep  ascent  to  Lady  Mau- 
levrier's  gate,  looking  down  at  two  figures  which  were  saunter- 
ing up  the  road. 

They  were  both  young  men,  both  tall,  broad-shouldered,  manly, 
walking  with  the  easy  swinging  movement  of  men  accustomed 
to  active  exercise.  One,  the  handsomer  of  the  two  in  Mary's 
eyes,  since  she  thought  him  simply  perfection,  was  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed,  the  typical  Saxon.  This  was  Lord  Maulevrier.  The 
other  was  dark,  bronzed  by  foreign  travel,  perhaps,  with  black 
hair,  cut  very  close  to  an  intelligent  looking  head,  bared  to  the 
evening  breeze. 

"  Hulloa?  "  cried  Maulevrier,  "  there's  Molly.  How  d'ye  do, 
old  girl?" 

The  two  men  looked  up,  and  Molly  looked  down.  Delight  at 
her  brother's  return  so  filled  her  heart  and  mind  that  there  was 
no  room  left  for  embarrassment  at  the  appearance  of  a  stranger. 

"  Oh,  Maulevrier,  I  am  so  glad.  I  have  been  pining  for  you. 
Wliy  didn't  you  write  to  say  you  were  coming.  It  would  have 
been  something  to  look  forward  to." 

"  Couldn't.  Never  knev/  from  day  to  day  what  I  was  going  to 
be  up  to  ;  besides,  I  knew  I  should  find  you  at  home." 


42  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  Of  course.  We  are  always  alhome,"  said  Mar}' ;  "go up  to 
the  house  as  fast  as  ever  you  can.  I'll  go  and  tell  grand- 
mother." 

"  And  tell  them  to  get  us  some  dinner,"  said  Maulevrier. 

Mary's  fluttering  figure  dipped  and  was  gone,  vanishing  in  the 
dark  labyrinth  of  shrubs.  The  two  young  men  sauntered  up  to 
the  house. 

"  We  needn't  hurry,"  said  Maulevrier  to  the  companion  whom 
he  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  introduce  to  his  sister.  "  We 
shall  have  to  wait  for  our  dinner." 

"  And  we  shall  have  to  change  our  dusty  clothes,"  added  the 
other ;  "I  hope  that  man  will  bring  our  portmanteau  in  time." 

"  Oh,  we  needn't  dress.  We  can  spend  the  evening  in  my 
den,  if  you  like !  " 

Mary  flew  across  the  lawn  again,  and  bounded  up  the  steps  of 
the  veranda — a  picturesque  Swiss  veranda  which  made  a  cov- 
ered promenade  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  Mary,  may  I  ask  the  meaning  of  this  excitement  ?  "  inquired 
her  Ladyship,  as  the  breathless  girl  stood  before  her. 

"  Maulevrier  has  come  home." 

"At  last?" 

"  And  he  has  brought  a  friend." 

"  Indeed.  He  might  have  done  me  the  honor  to  inquire  if  his 
friend's  visit  would  be  agreeable.     What  kind  of  person  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  idea.  I  didn't  look  at  him.  Maulevrier  is  look- 
ing so  well.  They  will  be  here  in  a  minute.  May  I  order  din- 
ner for  them  ? " 

"  Of  course,  they  must  have  dinner,"  said  her  Ladyship,  resign- 
edly, as  if  the  whole  thing  were  an  infliction,  and  Mary  ran  out 
and  interviewed  the  butler,  begging  that  all  things  might  be  made 
particularly  comfortable  for  the  travelers.  It  was  nine  o'clock 
and  the  servants  were  enjoying  their  eventide  repose. 

Having  given  her  orders,  Mary  went  back  to  the  drawing-room 
impatiently  expectant  of  her  brother's  arrival,  for  which  event 
Lesbia  and  her  grandmother  waited  with  perfect  tranquillity,  the 
dowager  calmly  continuing  the  perusal  of  her  Ti?nes,  while  Les- 
bia sat  at  her  piano  in  a  shadowy  corner,  and  played  one  of 
Mendelssohn's  softest  Lieder.  To  those  dreamy  strains  Mau- 
levrier and  his  friend  presently  entered. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  grandmother  ?  how  do,  Lesbia  ?  This  is  my 
very  good  friend  and  Canadian  traveling  companion,  Jack  Ham- 
mond.    Mr.  Hammond,  Lady  Maulevrier,  Lady  Lesbia." 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hammond,"  said  the  dowager,  in 
a  tone   so  purely  conventional  that  it   might  mean   anything. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  43 

"  Hammond  !     I  ought   to  remember  your  family — the   Ham- 
monds of — " 

"  Of  nowhere,"  answered  the  stranger,  in  the  easiest  tone.  "  I 
spring  from  a  race  of  nobodies,  of  whose  existence  your  Lady- 
ship is  not  likely  to  have  heard." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

maulevrier's  humble  friend. 

That  faint  interest  which  Lady  Lesbia  had  felt  in  the  advent  of 
a  stranger  dwindled  to  nothing  after  Mr.  Hammond's  frank 
avowal  of  his  insignificance.  At  the  very  beginning  of  her  career, 
with  the  world  waiting  to  be  conquered  by  her,  a  high-born  beauty 
could  not  be  expected  to  feel  any  interest  in  nobodies.  Lesbia 
shook  hands  with  her  brother,  honored  the  stranger  with  a 
stately  bend  of  her  beautiful  throat,  and  then  withdrew  herself 
from  their  society  altogether  as  it  were,  and  began  to  explore 
her  basket  of  crewels,  at  a  distant  table,  by  the  soft  light  of  a 
shaded  lamp,  while  Maulevrier  answered  his  grandmother's  ques- 
tions, and  Mary  stood  watching  him,  hanging  on  his  words,  as 
if  unconscious  of  any  other  presence. 

Mr.  Hammond  went  over  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at 
the  view.  The  moon  was  rising  above  the  amphitheater  of  hills, 
and  her  rays  were  silvering  the  placid  bosom  of  the  lake.  Lights 
were  dotted  here  and  there  about  the  valley,  telling  of  village 
life.  The  lighted  hotel  wonder  sparkled  with  its  many  windows, 
like  a  castle  in  a  fairy  tale.  The  stranger  had  looked  upon 
many  a  grander  scene,  but  on  none  more  lovely.  It  was  lake 
and  mountain  in  little,  without  the  snow-peaks  and  awful,  inac- 
cessible regions  of  solitude  and  peril;  homely  hills  that  one 
might  climb,  placid  English  vales  in  which  English  poets  have 
lived  and  died. 

"  Hammond  and  I  mean  to  spend  a  month  or  six  weeks  with 
you  if  you  can  make  us  comfortable,"  said  Maulevrier. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  you  can  contemplate  staying  a 
month  anywhere,"  replied  her  Ladyship.  "  Your  usual  habits 
are  as  restless  as  if  your  life  were  a  disease.  It  shall  not  be  my 
fault  if  you  and  Mr.' Hammond  are  uncomfortable  at  Fellside." 

There  was  courtesy,  but  not  cordiality  in  the  reply.  If  Mr. 
Hammond  was  a  sensitive  man,  touchily  conscious  of  his  own  ob- 


44 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


scurity,  he  must  have  felt  that  he  was  not  wanted  at  Fellside 
— that  he  was  an  excrescence,  matter  in  the  wrong  place. 

Nobody  had  presented  the  stranger  to  Lady  Mary.  It  never 
entered  into  Maulevrier's  mind  to  be  ceremonious  about  his  sister 
Molly.  She  was  so  much  a  part  of  himself  that  it  seemed  as  if 
anv  one  who  knew  him  must  needs  know  her.  Molly  sat  a  little 
way  from  the  window  by  which  Mr.  Hammond  was  standing, 
and  looked  at  him  doubtfully,  wonderingly,  with  not  altogether 
a  friendly  eye,  as  he  stood  with  his  profile  turned  to  her,  and  his 
eyes  upon  the  landscape.  She  was  inclined  to  be  jealous  of  her 
brother's  friend,  who  would  most  likely  deprive  her  of  much  of 
that  beloved  society.  Hitherto  she  had  been  Maulevrier's  chosen 
companion  at  Fellside — indeed,  his  sole  companion  after  the 
dismissal  of  his  tutor.  Now  this  brown-bearded  stranger  would 
usurp  her  privileges — those  two  young  men  would  go  roaming 
over  the  hills,  fishing,  otter-hunting,  going  to  distant  wrestling 
matches  without  her.  It  was  a  hard  thing,  and  she  was  pre- 
pared to  detest  the  interloper.  Even  to-night  she  would  be  a 
loser  by  his  presence.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  she  would 
have  gone  to  the  dining-room  with  Maulevrier,  and  sat  by  him 
and  waited  upon  him  as  he  ate.  But  she  dared  not  intrude  her- 
self upon  the  meal  when  it  was  shared  with  the  stranger. 

She  looked  at  John  Hammond  critically,  eager  to  find  fault 
with  his  appearance,  but  unluckily  for  her  present  humor  there 
was  not  much  room  for  fault-finding. 

He  was  tall,  broad-shouldered,  well-built.  His  enemies  would 
hardly  deny  that  he  was  good-looking,  nay,  even  handsome. 
The  massive,  regular  features  were  irreproachable.  He  was 
more  sunburnt  than  a  gentleman  ought  to  be,  Mary  thought. 
She  told  herself  that  his  good  looks  were  of  a  vulgar  quality,  like 
those  of  Charles  Ford,  the  champion  wrestler,  whom  she  saw  at 
the  sports  the  other  day.  Why  did  Maulevrier  pick  up  a  com- 
panion who  was  evidently  not  of  his  own  sphere.  Hoydenish, 
plain-spoken,  frank,  and  affectionate  as  Mary  Haselden  was,  she 
knew  that  she  belonged  to  a  race  apart,  that  there  were  circles 
beneath,  circles  below  her  own  world,  circles  which  hers  could 
never  touch ;  and  she  supposed  Mr.  Hammond  to  be  some  waif 
from  one  of  those  nethermost  worlds — a  village  doctor's  son, 
perhaps,  or  even  a  tradesman's — sent  to  the  University  by  some 
benevolent  busy-body,  and  placed  at  a  disadvantage  ever  after- 
ward, as  hanging  between  two  worlds,  like  Mahomet's  coffin. 

The  butler  announced  that  Lord  Maulevrier's  meal  was  served. 

''  Come  along,  Molly,"  said  his  Lordship  ;  "  come  and  tell  me 
about  the  terriers  while  I  eat  my  dinner." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  45 

Mary  hesitated,  glanced  doubtfully  at  her  grandmother,  who 
made  no  sign,  and  then  slipped  out  of  the  room,  hanging  fondly 
on  her  brother's  arm,  and  almost  forgetting  that  there  was  any 
such  person  as  Mr.  Hammond  in  existence. 

When  these  three  were  gone  Lady  Lesbia  expressed  herself 
strongly  upon  Maulevrier's  folly  in  bringing  such  a  person  as  Mr. 
Hammond  to  Fellside. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  with  him,  grandmamma  ?  "  she  said,  pet- 
tishly. "  Is  he  to  live  with  us  and  be  one  of  us,  a  person  of 
whose  belongings  we  know  positively  nothing,  who  owns  that  his 
people  are  common  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  he  is  your  brother's  friend,  and  we  have  the  right 
to  suppose  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"  Not  on  that  account,"  said  Lesbia,  more  sharply  than  her 
wont.  "  Didn't  he  make  a  friend,  or  almost  a  friend,  of  Jack 
Howell,  the  huntsman,  and  of  Ford,  the  wrestler.  I  have  no 
confidence  in  Maulevrier's  ideas  of  fitness." 

"  We  shall  find  out  all  about  this  Mr.  Hamleigh — no,  Ham- 
mond— in  a  day  or  two,"  replied  her  Ladyship,  placidly  ;  "  and 
in  the  mean  time  we  must  tolerate  him  and  be  grateful  to  him  if 
he  reconciles  Maulevrier  to  remaining  at  Fellside  for  the  next 
six  weeks." 

Lesbia  was  silent.  She  did  not  consider  Maulevrier's  pres- 
ence at  Fellside  an  unmitigated  advantage,  or,  indeed,  his  pres- 
ence anywhere.  They  two  were  not  sympathetic.  Maulevrier 
made  fun  of  his  elder  sister's  stately  perfections,  chaffed  her  intol- 
erably about  the  great  man  she  was  going  to  captivate  in  her  first 
season,  the  great  houses  in  which  she  was  going  to  reign.  Les- 
bia despised  him  for  his  neglect  of  all  those  opportunities  of  cul- 
ture which  had  left  him,  after  the  most  orthodox  and  costly  cur- 
riculum, almost  as  ignorant  as  a  plowboy.  She  despised  a  man 
whose  only  delight  was  in  horse  and  hound,  gun  and  fishing 
tackle.  Molly  would  have  cared  very  little  for  the  guns  or  the 
fishing  tackle  perhaps  in  the  abstract,  but  she  cared  for  ever}-- 
thing  that  interested  Maulevrier,  even  to  the  bag  full  of  rats 
which  were  let  loose  in  the  stable  yard  sometimes  for  the  educa- 
tion of  a  particularly  game  fox-terrier. 

There  was  plenty  of  talk  and  laughter  at  the  dinner-table,  while 
the  Countess  and  Lady  Lesbia  conversed  gravely  and  languidly 
in  the  dimly-lighted  drawing-room.  The  dinner  was  excellent, 
and  both  travelers  were  ravenous.  They  had  eaten  nothing 
since  breakfast,  and  had  driven  from  Windermere  on  the  top  of 
the  coach  in  the  keen  evening  air.  When  the  sharp  edge  of  appe- 
tite was  blunted,  Maulevrier  began  to  talk  of  his  adventures 


46  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

since  he  and  Molly  had  last  met.  He  had  not  been  dissipating 
in  London  all  the  time—or  indeed,  any  great  part  of  the  time  of 
his  absence  from  Fellside  ;  but  Molly  had  been  left  in  Cimme- 
rian darkness  as  to  his  proceedings.  He  never  wrote  a  letter  if 
he  could  possibly  avoid  doing  so.  If  it  became  a  vital  necessity 
to  nim  to  communicate  with  any  one  he  telegraphed,  or,  in  his 
own  language,  wired  to  that  person  ;  but  to  sit  down  at  a  desk 
and  labor  with  pen  and  ink  was  not  within  his  capacities  or  his 
views  of  his  mission  in  life. 

"  If  a  fellow  is  to  write  letters  he  might  as  well  be  a  clerk  in  an 
office,"  he  said,  "  and  sit  on  a  high-legged  stool." 

Thus  it  happened  that  when  Maulevrier  was  away  from  Fell- 
side,  no  fair  chatelaine  of  the  middle  ages  could  be  more  igno- 
rant of  the  movements  or  whereabouts  of  her  crusader  knight 
than  Mary  was  of  her  brother's  goings  on.  She  could  but  pray 
for  him  with  fond  and  faithful  prayer  and  wait  and  hope  for  his 
return.  And  now  he  told  her  that  things  had  gone  badly  with 
him  at  Epsom,  and  worse  at  Ascot,  that  he  had  been,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "  up  a  tree,"  and  that  he  had  gone  off  to  the  Black 
Forest  directly  the  Ascot  week  was  over,  and  at  Rippoldsan  he 
had  met  his  old  friend  and  fellow-traveler,  Hammond,  and  they 
had  gone  for  a  walking  tour  together  among  the  homely  villages, 
the  watchmakers,  the  timber  cutters,  the  pretty  peasant  girls. 
They  had  danced  at  fairs,  and  shot  at  v.'llage  sports,  and  had  al- 
together enjoyed  the  thing.  Hammond,  who  was  something  of 
an  artist,  had  sketched  a  good  deal.  Maulevrier  had  done  noth- 
ing but  smoke  his  German  pipe  and  enjoy  himself. 

"  I  was  glad  to  find  myself  in  a  world  where  a  horse  was  an  ex- 
ception and  not  the  rule,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  love  to  see  the  Black  Forest,"  cried  Mary, 
who  knew  the  first  part  of  "  Faust "  by  heart,  albeit  she  had 
never  been  told  to  read  it,  "  the  gnomes  and  the  witches — der 
Freyschutz — all  that  is  lovely.  Of  course  you  went  up  the 
Brocken  .?  " 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Hammond  ;  "  Mephistopheles 
was  our  valet  de  place,  and  we  went  up  among  a  company  of 
witches  riding  on  broomsticks." 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  addressed  himself  directly  to 
Mary,  who  sat  close  to  her  brother's  side,  and  never  took  her 
eyes  from  his  face,  ready  to  pour  out  hi^  wine,  or  to  change  his 
plate  even,  for  the  serving-men  had  been  dismissed  at  the  begin- 
ning of  this  unceremonious  meal. 

Mary  looked  at  the  stranger  almost  as  superciliously  as  Les- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  47 

bia  might  have  done.     She  was  not  mclined  to  be  friendly  to  her 
brother's  friend. 

"  Do  you  read  German  ?  "  she  inquired,  with  a  touch  of  surprise. 
"You  had  better  ask  him  what  language  he  does  not  read  or 
speak,"  said  her  brother.  "  Hammond  is  an  admirable  Crichton, 
my  dear  " — (by  the  bye,  who  was  admirable  Crichton  ? ) — "  knows 
everything,  can  twist  your  little  head  the  right  way  upon  any 
subject." 

"  Oh,"  thought  Mary,  "  highly  cultivated,  is  he  ?  Very  proper 
in  a  man  who  was  educated  on  charity  to  have  worked  his  hard- 
est at  the  University." 

She  was  not  prepared  to  think  very  kindly  of  young  men  who 
had  been  successful  in  their  college  career  since  poor  Maulevrier 
had  made  such  a  dismal  failure  of  his,  had  been  gated  and  sent 
down,  and  plowed,  and  had  had  everything  ignominious  done 
to  him  that  could  be  done,  which  ignominy  had  involved  an  ex- 
penditure of  money  that  Lady  Maulevrier  moaned  and  lament- 
ed until  this  day.  Because  her  brother  had  not  been  virtuous 
Mary  grudged  virtuous  young  men  their  triumphs  and  their  hon- 
ors. Great,  raw-boned  fellows,  who  have  taken  their  degrees  at 
Scotch  Universities,  come  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge  and  sweep 
the  board,  Maulevrier  had  told  her,  when  his  own  failures  de- 
manded explanation.  Perhaps  this  Mr.  Hammond  had  grad- 
uated north  of  the  Tweed  and  had  come  southward  to  rob  the 
native.  Mary  was  not  any  more  inclined  to  be  civil  to  him  be- 
cause he  was  a  linguist.  He  had  a  pleasant  manner,  frank  and 
easy,  a  good  voice,  a  cheery  laugh.  But  she  had  not  yet  made 
up  her  mind  that  he  was  a  gentleman. 

"  If  some  benevolent  old  gentleman  were  to  take  a  fancy  to 
Charles  Ford,  the  wrestler,  and  send  him  to  a  Scotch  Univer- 
sity, I  dare  say  he  would  turn  out  just  as  fine  a  fellow,"  she 
thought,  Ford  being  somewhat  of  a  favorite  as  a  local  hero. 

The  two  young  men  went  off  to  the  billiard  room  after  they 
had  dined.  It  was  half-past  ten  by  this  time,  and,  of  course, 
Mary  did  not  go  with  them.  She  bade  her  brother  good-night 
at  the  dining-room  door. 

"  Good-night,  Molly,  be  sure  you  are  up  early  to  show  me  the 
dogs,"  said  Maulevrier,  after  an  affectionate  kiss. 

"  Good-night,  Lady  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  holding  out 
his  hand,  albeit  she  had  no  intention  of  shaking  hands  with  him. 
She  allowed  her  hand  to  rest  for  an  instant  in  that  strong, 
friendly  grasp.  She  had  not  risen  to  giving  a  couple  of  fingers 
to  a  person  whom  she  considered  her  inferior,  but  she  was  in- 
clined to  shirk  Mr.  Hammond  as  rather  a  presuming  person. 


4  48  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

s  "  Well,  Jack,  what  do  3'ou  think  of  my  beauty  sister  ? "  asked 
i:  his  Lordship  as  he  chose  his  cue  from  the  well-filled  rack, 
h  The  lamps  were  lighted,  the  table  uncovered  and  read}',  Ca- 
r  rambole  in  his  place,  albeit  it  was  months  since  any  player  had 
Y  entered  the  room.  Everything  which  concerned  Maulevrier's 
t  comfort  or  pleasure  was  done  as  if  by  magic  at  Fellside ;  and 
c  Mary  was  the  household  fairy  whose  influence  secured  this 
?    happy  state  of  things. 

y        "Think.?     What  can  any  man  think  except  that  she  is   as 
lovely  as  the  finest  of  Reynolds's  portraits,  as  that  Lady  Di  and 
I     Beauclerk  of  Colonel  Aldridge's,  or  the  Kitty  Fisher,  or  any  ex- 
ample you  please  to  name  of  womanly  loveliness." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,"  answered  Maulevrier,  chalking  his  cue; 
"  can't  say  I  admire  her  myself — not  my  style,  don't  you  know. 
Too  much  of  my  Lady  Di — too  little  of  poor  Kitty.  But  still,  of 
course,  it  always  pleases  a  fellow  to  know  that  his  people  are  ad- 
mired, and  I  know  that  my  grandmother  has  views,  grand  views," 
smiling  down  at  his  cue.  "  Shall  I  break  1 "  and  Carambole, 
tapped  gently,  coaxingly,  by  Maulevrier's  ball,  came  rolling  at 
a  measured  pace  down  to  balk,  accompanied  by  the  white,  and 
stayed  there. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  beginning  to  play.  "  Mat- 
rimonial views,  of  course.  Very  natural  that  her  Ladyship  should 
expect  such  a  lovely  creature  to  make  a  great  match.  Is  there 
no  one  in  view  ?  Has  there  been  no  family  conclave — no  se- 
cret treaty  ?     Is  the  young  lady  fancy  free  ? " 

"  Perfectly.  She  has  been  buried  alive  here — except  parsons 
and  a  few  decent  people  whom  she  is  allowed  to  meet  now  and 
:  then  at  the  houses  about  here,  she  has  seen  nothing  of  the  world. 
My  grandmother  has  kept  Lesbia  as  close  as  a  nun.  She  is  not 
\  so  fond  of  Molly,  and  that  young  person  has  wild  ways  of  her 
I  own,  and  gives  everybody  the  slip.  By  the  bye,  how  do  you  like 
-     my  little  Moll  ?  " 

\         The  adjective  was  hardly  accurate  about  a  young  lady  who 
measured  five  feet  six,  but  Maulevrier  had  not  yet  grown  out  of 
,'     the  ideas  belonging  to  that  period  when  Mary  was  really  his  lit- 
^     tie  sister,  a  girl  of  twelve,  with  long  hair  and  short  petticoats. 

Mr.   Hammond  was  slow  to  reply.     Mary  had  not  made  a 
'     verv  strong  impression  upon  him.     Dazzled  by  her  sister's  pure 
and  classical  beauty,  he  had  no  eyes  for  Mary's  homelier  charms. 
She  seemed  to  him"  a  frank,  affectionate  girl,  not  too  well-man- 
nered ;  and  that  was  all  he  thought  of  her. 

"  I'm  afraid  Lady  Mary  does  not  like  me,"  he  said,  after  his 
shot,  which  gave  him  time  for  reflection. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  49 

"Oh,  Molly  is  rather  farouche  in  her  manners  ;  never  would 
train  fine,  don't  you  know.  Her  Ladyship  lectured  till  she  was 
tired,  and  now  Mary  runs  wild,  and  I  suppose  will  be  left  at 
grass  till  six  months  before  her  presentation,  and  then  they'll 
put  her  on  the  pillar-reins  a  bit  to  give  her  a  better  mouth. 
Good  shot,  by  Jove  !  " 

John  Hammond  was  used  to  his  Lordship's  style  of  conversa 
tion,  and  understood  his  friend  at  all  times.  Maulevrier  was 
not  an  intellectual  companion,  and  the  distance  was  wide  be- 
tween the  two  men  ;  but  his  Lordship's  gayety,  good-nature,  and 
acuteness  made  amends  for  all  shortcomings  in  culture.  And 
then  Mr.  Hammond  may  have  been  one  of  those  good  Con- 
servatives who  do  not  expect  very  much  intellectual  power  in 
an  hereditary  legislator. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  THE  SUMMER  MORNING. 

John  Hammond  loved  the  wild  freshness  of  morning,  and  was 
always  eager  to  explore  a  new  locality ;  so  he  was  up  at  five 
o'clock  next  morning  and  out  of  doors  before  six.  He  left  the 
sophisticated  beauty  of  Fellside  below  him  and  climbed  higher 
and  higher  up  the  Fell  till  he  was  able  to  command  a  bird's-eye 
view  of  the  lake  and  village,  and  just  under  his  feet,  as  it  were, 
Lady  Maulevrier's  favorite  and  cherished  abode.  He  was  pro- 
vided with  a  landscape  glass  which  he  always  carried  in  his 
rambles,  and  with  the  aid  of  this  he  could  see  every  stone  of 
the  building. 

The  house,  added  to  at  her  Ladyship's  pleasure,  and  without 
regard  to  cost,  covered  a  considerable  extent  of  ground.  The 
new  part  consisted  of  a  straight  range  of  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet,  facing  the  lake,  and  commandingly  placed  on  the 
crest  of  a  steepish  slope  ;  the  old  buildings,  at  right  angles  with 
the  new,  made  a  quadrangle,  the  fourth  side  of  which  was  formed 
by  the  dead  wall  of  stables  and  coach  houses,  which  had  no  win- 
dows upon  this  inner  inclosed  side.  The  old  buildings  were 
low  and  irregular,  one  portion  of  the  roof  thatched,  another  tiled. 
In  the  quadrangle  there  was  a  little,  prim,  old-fashioned  garden, 
with  geometrical  flower-beds  and  a  stone  sun-dial  in  the  center. 
A  peacock  stalked  about  in  the  morning  light,  and  greeted  the 
4 


4   50  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

s  newly-risen  sun  with  a  strident  scream.  Presently  a  man  came 
i)  out  of  a  half  glass  door  under  a  veranda  which  shaded  one 
h  side  of  the  quadrangle,  and  strolled  about  the  garden,  stopping 
r  here  and  there  to  cut  a  dead  rose  or  trim  a  geranium,  a  stoutly- 
y  built,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  gray  hair  and  beard,  the  im- 
t    age  of  well-fed  respectability. 

c  Mr.  Hammond  wondered  a  little  at  the  man's  leisurely  move- 
c  ments  as  he  sauntered  about,  whistling  to  the  peacock.  It  was 
A  not  the  manner  of  a  servant  who  had  duties  to  perform — rather 
that  of  a  gentleman  living  at  ease  and  hardly  knowing  how 
<    to  get  rid  of  his  time. 

"  Some  upper  functionary,  I  suppose,"  thought  Hammond ; 
"  the  house  steward,  perhaps." 

He  rambled  a  long  way  over  the  hill,  and  came  back  to  Fell- 
side  by  a  path  of  his  own  discover}^,  which  brought  him  to  a 
wooden  gate  leading  into  the  stable  yard,  just  in  time  to  meet 
Maulevrier  and  Lady  Mary  emerging  from  the  kennel,  where 
his  Lordship  had  been  inspecting  the  terriers. 

"  Angelina  is  bully  about  the  muzzle,"  said  Maulevrier  ;  "  we 
shall  have  to  give  her  away." 

"  Oh,  don't,"  cried  Mary.  "  She  is  a  most  perfect  darling, 
and  laughs  so  deliciously  whenever  she  sees  me." 

Angelina  was  in  Lady  Mary's  arms  at  this  moment ;  a  beauti- 
fully marked  little  creature,  all  thew  and  sinew,  palpitating  with 
t    suppressed  emotions,  and  grinning  to  her  heart's  content, 
i        Lady  Mary  looked  very  fresh  and  bright  in  her  neat  tailor 
i    gown,  ki,lted  kirtle,  and  tight-fitting  bodice,  with  neatest,  small- 
est brass  buttons.     It  was  a  gown  of  Maulevrier's  ordering,  made 
c    at  his  own  tailor's.     Her  splendid  chestnut  hair  was  uncovered, 
the  short  crisp  curls  about  her  forehead  dancing  in  the  morning 
w    air.     Her  large,  bright,  brown  eyes  were  dancing,  too,  with  de- 
n    light  at  having  her  brother  home  again. 

F        She  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Hammond  more  graciously  than 
B  last  night,  but  still  with  a  carelessness  which  was  not  compli- 
mentaiy,  looking  at  him  absently  as  if  she  hardly  knew  that  he 
w  was  there,  and  hugging  Angelina  all  the  time, 
w        Hammond  told  his  friend  about  his  ramble  over  the  hills,  yon- 
der, up  above  that  homely  bench  called  Rest  and  be  Thankful, 
]V   on  the  crest  of  Loughrigg  Fell.     He  was  beginning  to  learn  the 
e;    names  of  the   hills    already.     Yonder  darkling   brow,  rugged, 
p    gloomy-looking,  was  Nabb  Scar,  yonder  green  slope  of  sunny  past- 
n    ure,  stretching  wide  its  two  arms  as  if  to  enfold  the  valley,  was 
Fairfield,  and  here  close  on  the  left  as  he  faced  the  lake,  were 
Silver  Howe  and  Helm  Crag,  with  that  stony  excrescence  c.i 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  51 

its  summit  known  as  the  Lion  and  the  Lamb.  Lady  Maulevrier's 
house  stood  within  a  circle  of  mountain  peaks,  and  long  fells, 
which  walled  in  the  deep,  placid,  fertile  valley. 

"  If  you  are  not  too  tired  to  see  the  gardens  we  might  show 
them  to  you  before  breakfast,"  said  Maulevrier.  "  We  have 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  the  good." 

"  Half  an  hour  for  a  stroll,  and  a  quarter  to  make  myself  pre- 
sentable after  my  long  walk,"  said  Hammond,  who  did  not  wish 
to  face  the  Dowager  and  Lady  Lesbia  in  disordered  apparel. 
Lady  Mary  was  such  an  obvious  Tomboy  that  he  might  be  par- 
doned for  leaving  her  out  of  the  question. 

They  set  upon  an  exploration  of  the  gardens,  Mary  clinging 
to  her  brother's  arm,  as  if  she  wanted  to  make  sure  of  him,  and 
still  carrying  Angelina. 

The  gardens  were  as  other  gardens,  but  passing  beautiful. 
The  sloping  lawns,  and  richly  timbered  banks,  winding  shrub- 
beries, broad  terraces  cut  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  gave  variety  to 
the  grounds.  All  that  wealth  and  taste  and  labor  could  do  to 
make  those  grounds  beautiful  had  been  done — the  rarest  coni- 
fers, the  loveliest  flowering  shrubs  grew  and  flourished  there,  and 
the  flowers  bloomed  as  they  bloom  only  in  lakeland,  where  every 
cottage  garden  can  show  a  wealth  of  luxurious  bloom,  unknown 
in  less  sheltered  districts.  Mary  was  very  proud  of  those  gar- 
dens. She  had  loved  them  and  worked  in  them  from  her  baby- 
hood, trotting  about  on  chubby  legs  after  some  chosen  old  gar- 
dener, carrying  a  few  weeds  or  withered  leaves  in  her  pinafore, 
fancying  herself  infinitely  useful. 

"  I  help  '00,  doesn't  I,  Teeven,"  she  used  to  say  to  the  gray 
headed  old  gardener,  who  first  taught  her  the  difference  be- 
tween flowers  and  weeds. 

"  I  shall  never  learn  as  much  out  of  these  horrid  books  as 
poor  old  Stevens  taught  me,"  she  said  afterward,  when  the 
gray  head  was  at  rest  under  the  sod,  and  governesses,  botany- 
manuals,  and  hard  words  from  the  Greek  were  the  order  of  the  day. 

Nine  o'clock  was  the  breakfast  hour  at  Fellside.  There  were 
no  family  prayer^.  Lady  Maulevrier  did  not  pretend  to  be 
pious,  and  she  put  no  restraints  of  piety  upon  other  people. 
She  went  to  church  on  Sundays  for  the  sake  of  example,  but 
she  read  all  the  newest  scientific  books,  subscribed  to  the  An- 
thropological Society,  and  thought  as  the  newest  scientific  peo- 
ple think.  She  rarely  communicated  her  opinions  among  her 
own  sex;  but  now  and  then,  in  strictly  masculine  and  superior 
society,  she  had  been  heard  to  express  herself  freely  upon  the 
nebular  hypothesis  and  the  doctrine  of  evolution. 


52  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  After  all,  what  does  it  matter  ? "  she  said,  finally,  with  her 
grand  air ;  "  I  have  only  to  marry  my  granddaughters  creditably, 
and  prevent  my  grandson  going  to  the  dogs,  and  then  my 
mission  on  this  insignificant  planet  will  be  accomplished. 
What  new  form  that  particular  modification  of  molecules  which 
you  call  Lady  Maulevrier  may  take  afterward  is  hidden  in  the 
great  mystery  of  material  life." 

There  was  no  family  prayer,  therefore,  at  Fellside.  The  sis- 
ters had  been  properly  educated  in  their  religious  duties,  had 
been  taught  the  Anglican  faith  carefully  and  well  by  their  gov- 
erness, Fraulein  Kirsch,  who  had  become  a  staunch  Anglican 
before  entering  the  families  of  the  English  nobility,  and  by  the 
kind  Vicar  of  Grasmere,  who  took  a  warm  interest  in  the  orphan 
girls.  Their  grandmother  had  given  them  to  understand  that 
they  might  be  as  religious  as  they  liked.  She  would  be  no  let 
or  hindrance  to  their  piety  ;  but  they  must  ask  her  no  awkward 
questions. 

"I  have  read  a  great  deal  and  thought  a  great  deal,  and  my 
ideas  are  still  in  a  state  of  transition,"  she  told  Lesbia;  and 
Lesbia,  who  was  somewhat  automatic  in  her  piety,  had  no  desire 
to  know  more. 

Lady  Maulevrier  seldom  appeared  in  the  forenoon.  She  was 
an  early  riser,  being  too  vivid  and  highly  strung  a  creature,  even 
at  sixty-seven  years  of  age,  for  the  possibility  of  slothful  habits. 
She  rose  at  seven.  Summer  and  Winter,  but  she  spent  the  early 
part  of  the  day  in  her  own  rooms,  reading,  writing,  giving  orders 
to  her  housekeeper,  and  occasionally  interviewing  Steadman, 
who,  without  any  onerous  duties,  was  certainly  the  most  influen- 
tial person  in  the  house.  People  in  the  village  talked  of  him 
and  envied  him  so  good  a  berth.  He  had  a  gentleman's  house 
to  live  in,  and  to  all  appearance  lived  as  a  gentleman.  This 
tranquil  retirement,  free  from  care  and  labor,  was  a  rich  reward 
for  the  faithful  service  of  his  youth.  And  it  was  known  by  the 
better  informed  among  the  Grasmere  people  that  Mr.  Steadman 
was  saving  money  and  had  shares  in  the  North  Western  Rail- 
way. These  facts  had  oozed  out  of  themselves,  as  it  were.  He 
was  not  a  communicative  man,  and  rarely  wasted  half  an  hour 
at  that  inn  near  St.  Oswald's  Church,  amidst  the  cluster  of  habi- 
tations that  was  once  called  Kirktown.  He  was  an  unsociable 
man,  people  said,  and  thought  himself  better  than  Grasmere 
folk,  the  lodging-house  keepers,  and  the  guides,  and  the  wrest- 
lers, and  the  honest,  friendly  souls  who  were  the  outcome  of 
that  band  of  Norwegian  exiles  which  found  a  home  in  these 
peaceful  vales. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  53 

Fraulein  Kirsch,  more  commonly  known  as  Fraulein,  officiated 
at  breakfast.  She  never  appeared  at  the  board  when  Lady 
INIaulevrier  was  present,  but  in  her  Ladyship's  absence  Miss 
Kirsch  was  guardian  of  the  proprieties.  She  was  a  stout,  kindly 
creature,  and  by  no  means  a  formidable  dragon.  When  the 
gong  sounded,  John  Hammond  went  into  the  dining  room,  where 
he  found  Miss  Kirsch  seated  alone  in  front  of  the  urn. 

He  bowed,  quick  to  read  "  governess  "  or  "  companion  "  in 
the  lady's  appearance,  and  she  bowed. 

"  I  hope  you  have  had  a  nice  walk  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  saw  you 
from  my  bed-room  window." 

"  Did  you  ?  Then  I  suppose  yours  is  one  of  the  few  windows 
which  look  into  that  curious  quadrangle  .^" 

"  No,  there  are  no  windows  looking  into  the  quadrangle. 
Those  that  were  in  the  original  plan  of  the  house  were  walled 
up  at  her  Ladyship's  orders,  to  keep  out  the  cold  winds  which 
sweep  down  from  the  hills  in  Winter  and  early  Spring,  when  the 
edge  of  Loughrigg  Fell  is  white  with  snow.  My  window  looks 
into  the  gardens,  and  I  saw  you  there  with  his  Lordship  and 
Lady  Mary." 

Lady  Lesbia  came  in  at  this  moment,  and  Saluted  Mr.  Ham- 
mond with  a  haughty  inclination  of  her  beautiful  head.  She 
looked  lovelier  in  her  simple  morning  gown  of  pale  blue  cam- 
bric than  in  her  more  elaborate  toilet  of  last  evening  ;  such  purity 
of  complexion,  such  lustrous  eyes,  the  perfect  untarnished  beauty 
of  youth,  breathing  the  dehcate  freshness  of  a  newly-opened 
flower.  She  might  be  as  scornful  as  she  pleased,  yet  he  could 
not  withhold  his  admiration.  He  was  inclined  to  admire  a 
woman  who  kept  him  at  a  distance ;  for  the  general  bent  of 
young  women  nowadays  is  otherwise. 

Maulevrier  and  Mary  came  in,  and  every  one  sat  down  to 
breakfast.  Lady  Lesbia  unbent  a  little  presently,  and  smiled 
upon  the  stranger.  There  was  a  relief  in  a  stranger's  presence. 
He  talked  of  new  things,  places  and  people  she  had  never  seen. 
She  brightened  and  became  quite  friendly,  deigned  to  invite  the 
expression  of  Mr.  Hammond's  opinions  upon  music  and  art, 
and  after  breakfast  allowed  him  to  follow  her  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  to  linger  there  fascinated  for  half  an  hour,  looking 
over  her  newest  books  and  her  last  batch  of  music  from  the 
circulating  library,  but  looking  most  of  all  at  her,  while  Maule- 
vrier and  Mary  were  loafing  on  the  lawn  outside. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  this  morning  ?  " 
asked  Maulevrier  appearing  suddenly  at  a  window. 

"  Anything  you   like.     Stay,   there   is  one   pilgrimage   I  am 


54  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

eager  to  make.  I  must  see  Wordsworth's  grave,  and  Words- 
worth's house." 

"  You  shall  see  them  both,  but  they  are  in  opposite  directions 
— one  at  your  elbow,  the  other  a  four-mile  walk.  Which  will 
you  see  first  ?  We'll  toss  for  it,"  taking  a  shilling  from  a 
pocketful  of  loose  cash  always  ready  for  moments  of  hesitation. 
"  Heads,  house ;  tails,  grave.  Tails  it  is.  Come  and  have  a 
smoke  and  see  the  poet's  grave.  The  splendor  of  the  monu- 
ment, the  exquisite  neatness  with  which  it  is  kept,  will  astound 
you,  considering  that  we  live  in  a  period  of  Wordsworth  wor- 
ship." 

Hammond  hesitated  and  looked  at  Lady  Lesbia. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  ?  "  called  Maulevrier  from  the  lawn. 
"  It  was  a  fair  offer.     I've  got  my  cigarette  case." 

"Yes,  I'm  coming,"  answered  the  other  with  a  disappointed 
air. 

He  had  hoped  that  Lesbia  would  offer  to  show  him  the  poet's 
grave.     He  could  not  abandon  that  hope  without  a  struggle. 

"  Will  you  come  with  us.  Lady  Lesbia .?  We'll  suppress  the 
cigarettes ! " 

"  Thanks,  no,"  she  said,  suddenly  frigid.  "  I  am  going  to 
practice." 

"  Do  you  never  walk  in  the  morning — on  such  a  lovely  morn- 
ing as  this?  " 

"  Not  very  often." 

She  had  re-entered  those  frozen  regions  from  which  his  atten- 
tions had  lured  her  for  a  little  while.  She  had  reminded  herself 
of  the  inferiority  of  this  person,  in  whose  conversation  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  be  interested. 

"  Filons,"  cried  Maulevrier  from  below,  and  they  went. 

Mary  would  have  very  much  liked  to  go  with  them,  but  she 
did  not  want  to  be  intrusive,  so  she  went  off  to  the  kennels  to 
see  the  terriers  eat  their  morning  and  only  meal  of  dog  biscuit. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THERE  IS  ALWAYS  A  SKELETON. 

The  two  young  men  strolled  through  the  village,  Maulevrier 
pausing  to  exchange  greetings  with  almost  every  one  they  met, 
and  so  to  the  rustic  churchyard  above  the  rushing  waters  of  the 
romantic  Roth  a. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  55 

The  Rotha  was  swollen  with  late  rains,  and  was  brawling 
merrily  over  its  stony  bed  ;  the  churchyard  was  deep  and  cool 
and  shadowy  under  the  clustering  branches.  The  poet's  tomb 
was  disappointing  in  its  unlovely  simplicity,  its  stern,  slaty  hue. 
The  plainest  granite  cross  would  have  satisfied  Mr.  Hammond, 
or  a  cross  in  pure  white  marble,  with  a  sculptured  lamb  at  the 
base.  Surely  the  lamb,  emblem  at  once  pastoral  and  sacred, 
ought  to  enter  into  any  monument  to  Wordsworth  ;  but  that 
gray  headstone,  with -its  catalogue  of  dates,  those  stern  iron 
railings — were  these  fit  memorials  of  one  whose  soul  so  loved 
nature's  loveliness  .'* 

After  Mr.  Hammond  had  seen  the  little  old,  old  church,  and 
the  medallion  portrait  inside,  had  seen  all  that  Maulevrier 
could  show  him,  in  fact,  the  two  young  men  went  back  to  the 
place  of  graves,  and  sat  on  the  low  parapet  above  the  beck, 
smoking  their  cigarettes,  and  talking  with  that  perfect  unreserve 
which  can  only  obtain  between  men  who  are  old  and  tried 
friends.  They  talked,  as  it  was  only  natural  they  should  talk, 
of  that  household  at  Fellside,  where  all  things  were  new  to 
Juhn  Hammond. 

"You  like  my  sister  Lesbia?  "  said  Maulevrier. 

"  Like  her  !  Well,  yes.  The  difficulty  with  most  men  must 
be  not  to  worship  her." 

"  Ah,  she's  not  my  style.     And  she's  beastly  proud." 

"  A  little  hauteur  gives  piquancy  to  her  beauty.  I  admire  a 
proud  woman." 

"  So  do  I  in  a  picture  ;  Titian's  Queen  of  Cyprus,  or  any 
party  of  that  kind  ;  but  for  flesh  and  blood  I  like  humility — a  wo- 
man who  knows  she  is  human,  and  not  infallible,  and  only  just 
a  little  better  than  you  or  me.  When  I  choose  a  wife,  she  will 
be  no  such  example  of  cultivated  perfection  as  my  sister  Lesbia. 
I  want  a  woman  and  not  a  goddess  to  jog  along  the  rough  and 
tumble  road  of  life  with  me." 

"  Lady  Maulevrier's  influence  no  doubt  has  been  a  prime  fac- 
tor in  the  growth  of  your  sister's  character,  and  from  what  you 
have  told  me  about  her  Ladyship,  I  should  think  pride  and  a 
fixed  idea  of  her  own  superiority  would  be  inevitable  in  any  girl 
trained  and  educated  by  her." 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  proud  woman — a  proud,  hard  woman — and 
she  has  steeped  Lesbia's  mind  in  all  her  own  pet  ideas  and  prej- 
udices. Yet,  God  knows,  we  have  little  reason  to  hold  our 
heads  high,"  said  Maulevrier,  with  a  gloomy  look. 

John  Hammond  did  not  reply  to  this  remark — perhaps  there 
was  some  difficulty  for  a  man  situated  as  he  was  in  finding  a  fit 


56  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

reply.  He  smoked  in  silence,  looking  down  at  the  pure  swift 
waters  of  the  Rotha  tumbling  over  its  craggy  bed. 

"  Doesn't  somebody  say  there  is  always  a  skeleton  in  the  cup- 
board, and  the  grander  and  older  the  race  the  bigger  the  skel- 
eton ? "  said  Maulevrier,  with  a  philosophical  air. 

"Yes,  your  family  secret  is  an  attribute  of  a  fine  old  race. 
The  Pelopidae,  for  instance — but  in  their  case  it  was  not  a  sin- 
gle skeleton,  but  a  whole  charnel  house.  I  don't  think  your 
skeleton  need  trouble  you,  Maulevrier.  It  belongs  to  the  re- 
mote past." 

"Those  things  never  belong  to  the  past,"  said  the  young  man. 
"If  it  were  any  other  kind  of  taint — profligacy — madness,  even 
— the  story  of  a  duel  that  touched  the  confines  of  murder — a 
runaway  wife — a  rebellious  son — a  cruel  husband.  I  have  heard 
such  stories  hinted  at  in  association  with  some  of  our  best  fami- 
lies— but  our  story  means  disgrace  ;  and  I  seldom  see  strangers 
putting  their  heads  together  at  the  club  without  fancying  they 
are  telling  each  other  about  my  grandfather,  and  pointing  me 
out  as  the  grandson  and  heir  of  a  thief." 

"  Why  use  unduly  hard  words  !  " 

"  Why  should  I  stoop  to  sophistication  with  you,  my  friend  ? 
Dishonesty  is  dishonesty  all  the  world  over,  and  to  plunder 
Rajahs  on  a  large  scale  is  no  less  vile  than  to  pick  a  pocket  on 
Ludgate  Hill." 

"  Nothing  was  ever  proved  against  your  grandfather." 

"  No,  he  died  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  the  inquiry  was  quashed, 
thanks  to  the  Angersthorpe  interest,  and  my  grandmother's 
cleverness.  But  if  he  had  lived  a  few  weeks  longer  England 
would  have  rung  with  the  story  of  his  profligacy  and  his  dishonor. 
Some  people  say  he  committed  suicide  in  order  to  escape  the 
inquiry  ;  but  I  have  heard  my  father  emphatically  deny  this. 
He  had  often  talked  with  the  people  who  kept  the  little  inn 
where  his  father  died,  and  they  were  clear  enough  in  their  as- 
sertion that  the  death  was  a  natural  death — the  sudden  collapse 
of  an  exhausted  constitution." 

"  Was  it  on  account  of  this  scandal  that  3'our  father  spent 
the  best  part  of  his  life  on  the  continent?  "  Hammond  asked, 
feeling  that  it  was  a  relief  to  Maulevrier  to  talk  about  this  se- 
cret burden  of  his. 

The  young  earl  was  light-hearted  and  frivolous  by  nature,  yet 
even  he  had  his  graver  moments,  and  upon  this  subject  of  the 
old  Maulevrier  scandal  he  was  peculiarly  sensitive,  perhaps  all 
the  more  so  because  his  grandmother  had  never  allowed  him  to 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  57 

speak  to  her  about  it,  had  never  satisfied  his  curiosity  upon  any 
details  of  that  painful  story. 

"  I  have  very  little  doubt  it  was  so — though  I  wasn't  old 
enough  when  he  died  to  hear  as  much  from  his  own  lips.  My 
father  went  straight  from  the  University  to  Vienna,  where  he  be- 
[^an  his  career  in  the  diplomatic  service  dowerless,  married  a 
o-irl  of  high  family  at  Vienna,  and  died  of  fever  at  New  Orleans 
within  seven  years  of  his  marriage,  leaving  a  widow  and  three 
babies,  the  youngest  in  long  clothes.  Mother  and  babies  all  came 
over  to  England,  and  were  at  once  established  at  Fellside.  I 
can  just  remember  the  voyage — and  I  can  just  remember  my  poor 
mother,  who  never  recovered  the  blow  of  my  father's  death,  and 
who  died  in  yonder  house,  after  two  years  of  broken  health  and 
broken  spirits.  We  had  no  one  but  the  dowager  to  look  to  as 
children — hardly  another  friend  in  the  world.  She  did  what 
she  liked  with  us — she  has  kept  the  girls  as  close  as  nuns,  so 
they  have  never  heard  a  hint  of  the  old  history — -no  breath  of 
scandal  has  reached  their  ears.  But  she  could  not  shut  me  up 
in  a  country  house  forever,  though  she  did  succeed  in  keeping 
me  away  from  a  public  school.  The  time  came  when  I  had  to 
go  to  the  University,  and  there  I  heard  all  that  had  been  said 
about  Lord  Maulevrier.  The  men  who  told  me  about  it,  in  a 
friendly  way,  pretended  not  to  believe  it ;  but  one  night  when  I 
had  got  into  a  row  at  a  wine  party  with  a  tailor's  son,  he  told  me 
that  if  his  father  was  a  snip  my  grandfather  w^as  a  thief,  and  so 
he  thought  himself  the  better  bred  of  the  two.  I  smashed  his 
nose  for  him,  but  as  it  was  a  decided  pug  before  the  row  began, 
that  hardly  squared  the  matter." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  exact  story  ? " 

"  I  heard  a  dozen  stories  ;  and  if  only  a  quarter  of  them  are 
true  my  grandfather  was  a  scoundrel.  It  seems  that  he  was 
intensely  popular  for  the  first  year  or  so  of  his  government, 
gave  more  splendid  entertainments  than  had  been  given  in  Ma- 
dras for  half  a  century  before  his  time,  lavished  his  wealth  upon 
his  favorites  ;  then  arose  a  rumor  that  the  governor  was  insolvent 
and  harassed  by  his  creditors,  and  then  a  new  source  of  wealth 
seemed  to  be  at  his  command ;  he  was  more  reckless,  more 
princely  than  ever,  and  then,  little  by  little,  there  arose  the 
suspicion  that  he  was  trafficking  in  English  interests,  selling  his 
influence  to  petty  princes,  winking  at  those  mysterious  crimes 
by  which  rightful  heirs  are  pushed  aside  to  make  room  for 
usurpers.  Lastly,  it  became  notorious  that  he  was  the  slave  of 
a  wicked  woman,  false  wife,  suspected  murderess,  whose  hus- 
band, a  native  prince,  disappeared  from  the  scene,  just  when 


58  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

his  existence  became  perilous  to  the  governor's  reputation. 
According  to  one  version  of  the  story,  the  scandal  of  this  man's 
mysterious  disapjDearance,  and  the  disapi^earance  of  his  large 
fortune  in  money  and  jewels,  was  the  immediate  cause  of  my 
grandfather's  recall.  How  much  or  how  little  of  this  story — or 
other  dark  stories  of  the  same  kind — is  true,  whether  my  grand- 
father was  a  consummate  scoundrel,  or  the  victim  of  a  baseless 
slander — whether  he  left  India  a  rich  man,  or  a  poor  man — is 
known  to  no  mortal  except  Lady  Maulevrier,  and  compared  with 
her  the  Theban  Sphinx  was  a  communicative  individual." 

"  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead,"  said  Hammond ;  "  neither 
you  nor  your  sisters  can  be  the  worse  for  this  ancient  slander — 
no  doubt  every  part  of  the  story  has  been  distorted  and  exag- 
gerated in  the  telling — and  a  great  deal  of  it  may  be  pure  inven- 
tion, evolved  from  the  inner  consciousness  of  the  slanderer. 
God  forbid  that  any  whisper  of  scandal  should  ever  reach  Lady 
Lesbia's  ears." 

He  ignored  poor  Mary.  It  was  to  him  as  if  there  was  no 
such  person.  Her  feeble  light  was  extinguished  by  the  radiance 
of  her  sister's  beauty,  her  very  individuality  was  annihilated. 

"  As  for  you,  dear  old  fellow,"  he  said,  with  warm  affection, 
"  no  One  will  ever  think  the  worse  of  you  on  account  of  your 
grandfather's  peccadilloes." 

''Yes,  they  will.  Hereditary  genius  is  one  of  the  modern 
crazes.  When  a  man's  grandfather  was  a  rogue,  there  must  be 
a  taint  in  his  blood.  People  don't  believe  in  spontaneous  gen- 
eration, moral  or  physical,  nowadays.  A  man  is  taken  to  be 
the  outcome  of  his  ancestors." 

"  In  that  case,  knowing  what  kind  of  a  man  the  grandson  is, 
I  will  never  believe  that  the  grandfather  was  a  rogue,"  said  Mr. 
Hammond,  heartily. 

Maulevrier  put  out  his  hand  without  a  word,  and  it  was  warmly 
grasped  by  his  friend. 

"  As  for  her  Ladyship,  I  respect  and  honor  her  as  a  woman 
who  has  led  a  life  of  self-sacrifice,  and  has  w^orn  her  pride  as  an 
armor,"  continued  Mr.  Hammond. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  the  dowager's  character  is  rather  fine,"  said 
Maulevrier  ;  "  but  she  and  I  have  never  hit  our  horses  very  well 
together.  She  would  have  liked  such  a  fellow  as  you  for  a  grand- 
son, Jack — a  man  \vho  took  high  honors  at  Oxford,  and  could 
hold  his  ow^n  against  all  comers.  Such  a  grandson  would  have 
gratified  her  pride,  and  would  have  repaid  her  for  the  trouble 
she  has  taken  in  nursing  the  Maulevrier  estate ;  for  however 
her  husband  may  have  dipped  the  estate  by  his  Indian  extrava- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  59 

gances,  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  a  fine  property  now,  and  that 
the  dowager  has  been  the  making  of  it." 

The  two  young  men  strolled  up  to  Easedale  tarn  before  they 
went  back  to  Fellside,  where  Lady  Maulevrier  received  them 
with  a  stately  graciousness,  and  where  Lady  Lesbia  unbent  con- 
siderably at  luncheon  and  condescended  to  an  animated  convex 
sation  with  her  brother's  friend.  It  was  such  a  new  thing  to 
have  a  stranger  at  the  family  board,  a  man  whose  information 
could  talk  eloquently  upon  every  subject  which  society  talks 
about.  In  this  new  and  animated  atmosphere  Lesbia  seemed 
liked  an  enchanted  princess  suddenly  awakened  from  a  spell- 
bound slumber.  Molly  looked  at  her  sister  with  absolute  as- 
tonishment. Never  had  she  seen  her  so  bright,  so  beautiful, 
no  longer  a  picture  or  a  statue,  but  a  woman  warm  with  the 
glow  of  life. 

"  No  wonder  Mr.  Hammond  admires  her,"  thought  poor  Molly, 
who  was  quite  acute  enough  to  see  the  stranger's  keen  appre- 
ciation of  her  sister's  charms,  and  positive  indifference  toward 
herself. 

There  are  some  things  which  women  find  out  by  instinct,  just 
as  the  needle  turns  toward  the  magnet.  Shut  a  girl  up  in  a 
bower  till  she  is  eighteen  years  old,  and  on  the  day  of  her  re- 
lease introduce  her  to  the  first  man  her  eyes  have  ever  looked 
upon,  and  she  will  know  at  a  glance  whether  he  admires  her  or 
not. 

After  luncheon  the  four  young  people  started  for  Rydal 
Mount,  with  Fraulein  as  chaperon  and  watch-dog.  They  were 
all  good  walkers.  Lady  Lesbia  even,  though  she  looked  like  a 
hot-house  flower,  had  been  trained  to  active  habits,  could  walk 
and  ride  and  play  tennis  and  climb  a  hill  as  became  a  mountain- 
bred  damsel.  Molly,  feeling  that  her  conversational  powers 
were  not  appreciated  by  her  hostess'  friend,  took  half  a  dozen 
dogs  for  company,  and  with  three  fox  terriers,  a  little  Yorkshire 
dog,  a  colley  and  an  otter  hound,  was  at  no  loss  for  society  on 
the  road ;  more  especially  as  Maulevrier  gave  her  most  of  his 
company,  and  entertained  her  with  an  account  of  his  Swiss  ad- 
ventures, and  all  the  fine  things  he  had  said  to  the  fair-haired, 
blue-eyed  Helvetians,  who  had  sold  him  photographs  or  wild 
strawberries,  or  had  awakened  the  echoes  of  the  hills  with  the 
music  of  their  rustic  flutes. 

Fraulein  was  perfectly  aware  that  her  mission  upon  this  par- 
ticular afternoon  was  not  to  let  Lady  Lesbia  out  of  her  sight  for 
an  instant,  to  hear  every  word  the  young  lady  said,  and  every 
word  Mr.  Hammond  addressed  to  her.     She  had  received  no 


6o  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

specific  instructions  from  Lady  Maulevrier.  They  were  not  nec- 
essary, for  the  Fraulein  knew  her  Ladyship's  intentions  with  re- 
gard to  her  eider  niece — Icnew  them  at  least  so  far  as  that  Lesbia 
was  intended  to  make  a  brilliant  marriage  ;  and  she  knew,  there- 
fore, that  the  presence  of  this  handsome  and  altogether  attract- 
ive young  man  was  to  the  last  degree  obnoxious  to  the  Countess. 
She  was  obliged  to  be  civil  to  him  for  her  nephew's  sake,  and 
she  was  too  wise  to  let  Lesbia  imagine  him  dangerous  ;  but  the 
fact  that  he  was  dangerous  was  obvious,  and  it  was  Fraulein's 
duty  to  protect  her  employer's  interests. 

Everybody  knew  Lord  Maulevrier,  so  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
getting  admission  to  Wordsworth's  garden  and  Wordsworth's 
house,  and  then  they  went  back  to  the  shores  of  the  little  lake 
and  cHmbed  that  rocky  eminence  upon  which  the  poet  used  to 
sit  above  the  placid  waters  of  silvery  Rydal.  It  is  a  lovely  spot, 
and  that  narrow  lake,  so  poor  a  thing  if  magnitude  were  the 
gauge  of  beauty,  had  a  soft  and  pensive  loveliness  in  the  clear 
afternoon  light. 

"  Poor  Wordsworth,"  sighed  Lesbia,  as  she  stood  on  the  grassy 
crag  looking  down  at  the  shining  water,  broken  in  the  foreground 
by  fringes  of  rushes,  and  the  rich  luxuriance  of  water  plants. 
"  Is  it  not  pitiable  to  think  of  the  years  he  spent  in  this  mo- 
notonous place,  without  any  society  worth  speaking  of,  with 
only  the  shabbiest  collection  of  books,  with  hardly  any  interest 
in  life  except  the  sky,  and  the  hills  and  the  peasantry  t  " 

"  I  think  Wordsworth's  life  was  an  essentially  happy  life,  in 
spite  of  his  narrow  range,"  answered  Hammond.  "  You,  with 
your  ardent  youth  and  vivid  desire  for  a  life  of  action,  cannot 
imagine  the  calm  blisses  of  reverie  and  constant  communion  with 
nature.  Wordsworth  had  a  thousand  companions  you  and  I 
would  never  dream  of ;  for  him  every  flower  that  grows  was  an 
individual  existence — almost  a  soul." 

"  It  was  a  mild  kind  of  lunacy,  an  everlasting  opium-dream 
without  the  opium  ;  but  I  am  grateful  to  him  for  living  such  a 
life,  since  it  has  bequeathed  us  some  exquisite  poetry,"  said  Les- 
bia, who  had  been  too  carefully  cultured  to  fleer  or  flout  at  Words- 
worth. 

"I  do  believe  there's  an  otter  just  under  that  bank,"  cried 
Molly,  who  had  been  watching  the  obvious  excitement  of  her 
bandy-legged  hound,  and  she  moved  down  to  the  brink  of  the 
water,  leaping  lightly  from  stone  to  stone,  and  inciting  the  hound 
to  business. 

"  Let  him  alone,  can't  3'ou,"  roared  Maulevrier  ;  "  leave  him 
in  peace  till  he's  wanted.     If  you  disturb  him  now  he"!l  desert 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  6i 

his  holt,  and  we  may  have  a  blank  day.     The  hounds  are  to  be 
out  to-morrow — " 

"  And  I  may  go  widi  you  ?  "  pleaded  Mary. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  you'll  want  to  be  in  it." 

Molly  and  her  brother  went  on  an  exploring  ramble  along  the 
eds^e  of  the  water  toward  Ambleside,  leaving  John  Hammond 
in  Lesbia's  companv,  but  closely  guarded  by  Miss  Kirsch.  They 
went  to  look  at  "Nabb  Cottage,  where  poor  Hartley  Coleridge 
ended  his  brief  and  clouded  days,  and  they  had  gone  some  way 
on  their  homeward  walk  before  they  were  rejoined  by  Maule- 
vrier  and  Mary,  the  damsel's  kilted  skirt  considerably  worse  for 
mud  and  mire. 

"  What  would  grandmamma  say  if  she  were  to  see  you  ? "  ex- 
claimed Lesbia,  looking  contemptuously  at  the  muddy  petti- 
coat. 

''  I  am  not  going  to  let  her  see  me,  so  she  will  say  nothing," 
cried  Mary,  and  then  she  called  to  the  dogs,  "  Ammon,  Aga- 
memnon, Angelina,"  and  three  fox  terriers  flew  along  the  road, 
falling  over  themselves  in  the  swiftness  of  their  flight,  darting 
and  leaping  and  scrambling  over  each  other,  and  offering  the 
spectators  the  most  intense  example  of  joyous  animal  life. 

The  colley  was  far  up  on  the  hillside,  and  the  other  hound  was 
still  hunting  the  water,  but  the  terriers  never  went  out  of  Mary's 
sight.  They  looked  to  her  to  take  the  initiative  in  all  their 
sports. 

They  were  back  at  Fellside  in  time  for  a  very  late  tea.  Lady 
Maulevrier  was  waiting  for  them  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Oh,  grandmamma,  why  did  you  not  take  your  tea  ?  '*  ex- 
claimed Lesbia,  looking  really  distressed.     "  It  is  six  o'clock." 

"  I  am  used  to  have  you  at  home  to  hand  me  my  teacup,"  re- 
plied the  dowager,  with  a  touch  of  reproachfulness. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Lesbia,  sitting  down  before  the  tea  ta- 
ble, and  beginning  her  accustomed  duty.  "  Indeed,  dear  grand- 
mamma, I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late  ;  but  it  was  such  a  lovely 
afternoon,  and  Mr.  Hammond  is  so  interested  in  everything  con- 
nected with  Wordsworth — " 

She  was  looking  her  loveliest  at  this  moment,  all  that  w^as 
softest  in  her  nature  called  forth  by  her  desire  to  please  her 
grandmother,  whom  she  really  loved.  She  hung  over  Lady 
Maulevrier's  chair,  attending  to  her  small  wants,  and  seeming 
scarcely  to  remember  the  existence  of  any  one  else.  In  this 
phase  of  her  character  she  seemed  to  Mr.  Hammond  the  perfec- 
tion of  womanly  grace. 

Mary  had  rushed  off  to  her  room  to  change  her  muddy  gown, 


62  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

and  came  in  presently  dressed  for  dinner,  looking  the  picture  of 
innocence. 

John  Hammond  received  his  teacup  from  Lesbia's  hand,  and 
lingered  in  the  drawing-room  talking  to  the  dowager  and  her 
granddaughters  till  it  was  time  to  dress.  Lady  Maulevrier  found 
herself  favorably  impressed  by  him  in  spite  of  her  prejudices. 
It  was  very  provoking  of  Maulevrier  to  have  brought  such  a  man 
to  Fellside.  His  very  merits  were  objectionable.  She  tried 
with  exquisite  art  to  draw  him  into  some  revealment  as  to  his 
family  and  antecedents,  but  he  evaded  every  attempt  of  that 
kind.  It  was  too  evident  that  he  was  a  self-made  man,  whose 
intellect  and  good  looks  were  his  only  fortune.  It  was  criminal 
in  Maulevrier  to  have  brought  such  a  person  to  Fellside.  Her 
Ladyship  began  to  think  seriously  of  sending  the  two  girls  to  St. 
Bees  or  Tynemouth  for  change  of  air,  in  charge  of  Fraulein. 
But  any  sudden  proceeding  of  that  kind  would  inevitably  awaken 
Lesbia's  suspicion ;  and  there  is  nothing  so  fatal  to  a  woman's 
peace  as  this  idea  of  danger.  No,  the  peril  must  be  faced.  She 
could  only  hope  that  Maulevrier  would  soon  tire  of  Fellside.  A 
week's  Westmoreland  weather — gray  skies  and  long  days  of  per- 
petual rain  might  send  these  young  men  away. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   MIDNIGHT   SHRIEK. 

The  peril  had  to  be  faced,  for  the  weather  did  not  favor  Lady 
Maulevrier's  hopes.  Westmoreland  skies  forgot  to  shed  their 
accustomed  water  drops.  Westmoreland  hills  seemed  to  have 
lost  their  power  of  drawing  down  the  rain.  That  August  was  a 
lovely  month,  and  the  young  people  at  Fellside  reveled  in  ideal 
weather.  Maulevrier  took  his  friend  everywhere — by  hill  and 
stream  and  force  and  gill — to  all  those  chosen  spots  which 
make  the  glory  of  the  lake  country — on  Windermere  and  Thirl- 
mere  away  through  the  bleak  pass  of  Kirkstone  to  Ullswater — on 
driving  excursions  and  on  boating  excursions  and  pedestrian 
rambles,  which  latter  the  homely-minded  Hammond  seemed  to 
like  best  of  all,  for  he  was  a  splendid  walker,  and  loved  the 
freedom  of  a  mountain  ramble,  the  liberty  to  pause  and  loiter 
and  waste  an  hour  at  will,  without  being  accountable  to  any 
coachman  or  responsible  for  the  well-being  of  anybody's  horses. 

On  some  occasions  the  two  irirls  and  Miss  Kirsch  had  been 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  63 

of  the  party,  and  then  it  had  seemed  to  John  Hammond  as  if 
nothing  were  needed  to  complete  the  glory  of  earth  and  sky. 
There  were  other  days — rougher  journeys — when  the  men  went 
alone,  and  there  were  days  when  Lady  Mary  stole  away  from 
her  books  and  music,  and  all  those  studies  which  she  was  sup- 
posed still  to  be  pursuing,  no  longer  closely  supervised  by  her 
governess,  but  on  parole,  as  it  were,  and  went  with  her  brother 
and  his  friend  across  the  hills  and  far  away.  Those  were 
happy  days  for  Mary,  for  it  was  always  delight  to  her  to  be  with 
Maulevrier — yet  she  had  an  acute  sense  of  John  Hammond's  in- 
difference, kind  and  courteous  as  he  was  in  all  his  dealings  with 
her — a  sense  of  her  own  inferiority,  of  her  own  humble  charms 
and  little  power  to  please,  which  was  so  acute  as  to  be  almost 
pain.  One  day  this  keen  sense  of  humiliation  broke  from  her 
unawares  in  her  talk  with  her  brother,  as  they  two  sat  on  a  broad 
heathy  slope  face  to  face  with  one  of  the  Langdale  pikes,  and 
with  a  deep  valley  at  their  feet,  while  John  Hammond  was  climb- 
ing from  rock  to  rock  in  the  gorge  on  their  right,  exploring  the 
beauties  of  Dungeon  Ghyll. 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  thinks  me  very  ugly,"  said  Mary,  with 
her  hands  clasped  upon  her  knees,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Wether- 
lam,  upon  whose  steep  brow  a  craggy  mass  of  brown  rock 
clothed  with  crimson  heather  stood  out  from  the  velvety  green 
of  the  hillside. 

"  Who  thinks  you  ugly  ? " 

"Mr.  Hammond.  I'm  sure  he  does.  I  am  so  sunburnt  and 
so  horrid." 

*'  But  you  are  not  ugly." 

"  I  may  not  seem  so  to  you,  perhaps,  because  you  are  used  to 
me  ;  but  I  know  he  must  think  me  very  plain  compared  with 
Lesbia,  whom  he  admires  so  much." 

"  Yes,  he  admires  Lesbia.     There  is  no  doubt  of  that." 

"  And  I  know  he  thinks  me  plain,"  said  Molly,  contemplating 
Wetherlam  with  sorrowful  eyes,  as  'f  it  were  the  inevitable  se- 
quence. 

"  My  dearest  darling,  what  nonsense  !  Plain;  forsooth  !  Ugly  ! 
Why  there  are  not  a  finer  pair  of  eyes  in  Westmoreland  than 
my  Molly's,  or  a  prettier  mouth,  or  finer  teeth." 

"  But  all  the  rest  is  horrid,"  said  Mary,  intensely  in  earnest. 
"  I  am  sunburnt,  freckled,  and  altogether  odious — like  a  hay- 
maker or  a  market  woman.  Grandmother  has  said  so  often 
enough,  and  I  know  it  is  the  truth.  I  can  see  it  in  Mr.  Ham- 
mond's manner." 

"  What !   freckles  ancf  sunburn,  and   the    haymaker,  and    all 


64  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

that  ?  "  cried  Maulevrier,  laughing.  "  What  an  expressive  man- 
ner Jack's  must  be,  if  it  can  convey  all  that — like  Lord  Bur- 
leigh's nod,  by  jove.  Why,  what  a  goose  you  are,  Mary.  Jack 
thinks  you  are  a  very  nice  girl,  and  a  very  pretty  girl,  I'll  be 
bound ;  but  aren't  you  clever  enough  to  understand  that  when 
a  man  is  over  head  and  ears  with  one  woman  he  is  apt  to  seem 
just  a  little  indifferent  to  all  the  other  women  in  the  world,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  Jack  is  desperately  in  love  with  Lesbia." 

"  You  ought  not  to  let  him  be  in  love  with  her,"  protested 
Mary.  "  You  know  it  can  only  lead  to  his  unhappiness.  You 
must  know  what  grandmother  is,  and  how  she  has  made  up  her 
mind  that  Lesbia  is  to  marry  some  great  person.  You  ought 
not  to  have  brought  Mr.  Hammond  here.  It  is  like  letting  him 
into  a  trap." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  wrong  ?  "  asked  her  brother,  smiling  at  her 
earnestness.  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  poor  Jack  should  come 
to  grief.  But  still,  if  Lesbia  likes  him — which  I  think  she  does 
— we  ought  to  be  able  to  talk  over  the  dowager." 

"  Never,"  cried  Mary.  "  Grandmother  would  never  give  way. 
You  have  no  idea  how  ambitious  she  is.  Why,  once  when  Les- 
bia was  in  a  poetical  mood,  and  said  she  would  marry  the  man 
she  liked  best  in  the  world,  if  he  were  a  pauper,  her  Ladyship 
fiew  into  a  terrible  passion  and  told  her  she  would  renounce 
her,  that  she  would  curse  her,  if  she  were  to  marry  beneath  her, 
or  marry  without  her  grandmother's  consent." 

"  Hard  lines  for  Hammond,"  said  Maulevrier,  rather  lightly. 
"  Then  I  suppose  we  must  give  up  the  idea  of  a  match  between 
him  and  Lesbia." 

"You  ought  not  to  have  brought  him  here,"  retorted  Mary. 
"  You  had  better  invent  some  plan  for  sending  him  away.  If 
he  stays  it  will  be  only  to  break  his  heart." 

"Dear child,  men's  hearts  do  not  break  so  easily.  I  have 
fancied  that  mine  was  broken  more  than  once  in  my  life,  yet  it 
is  sound  enough,  I  assure  you." 

"  Oh  !  "  sighed  Mary,  "  but  you  are  not  like  him — wounds  do 
not  go  so  deep  with  you." 

The  subject  of  their  conversation  came  out  of  the  rocky  cleft 
in  the  hills  as  Mary  spoke.  She  saw  his  hat  appearing  out  of 
the  gorge,  and  then  the  man  himself  emerged,  a  tall,  well-built 
figure,  clad  in  brown  tweed,  coming  toward  them,  with  sketch- 
book and  color-box  in  his  pocket.  He  had  been  making  what 
he  called  memoranda  of  the  waterfall,  a  stone  or  tw^o  here,  a 
cluster  of  ferns  there,  or  a  tree  torn  up  by  the  roots,  and  ^'Cc  green 
and  living,  hanging  across  the  torrent,  a  rude  natural  bridge. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  65 

This  round  by  the  Langdale  Pikes  and  Dungeon  Ghyll  was 
one  of  their  best  days,  or  at  least  Molly  and  her  brother  thought 
so,  for  to  those  two  the  presence  of  Lesbia  and  her  chaperon 
was  always  a  restraint. 

Mary  could  walk  twice  as  far  as  her  elder  sister,  and  reveled 
in  hillside  paths  and  all  manner  of  rough  places. 

They  ordered  their  luncheon  at  the  inn  below  the  waterfall, 
and  had  it  carried  up  on  to  the  furzy  slope  in  front  of  Wether- 
lam,  where  they  could  eat  and  drink  and  be  merry  to  the  music 
of  the  force  as  it  came  down  from  the  hills  behind  them,  while 
the  lights  and  shadows  came  and  went  upon  yonder  ragged 
brow,  now  gray  in  the  shadow,  now  ruddy  in  the  sunshine. 

Mary  was  as  gay  as  a  bird  during  that  rough  and  ready  lunch- 
eon ;  no  one  would  have  suspected  her  uneasiness  about  John 
Hammond's  peril  or  her  own  plainness.  She  might  let  her  real 
self  appear  to  her  brother,  who  had  been  her  trusted  friend  and 
father  confessor  from  her  babyhood,  but  she  was  too  thorough 
a  woman  to  let  Mr.  Hammond  discover  the  depth  of  her  sympa- 
thy, the  tenderness  of  her  compassion  for  his  woes. 

Later  as  they  were  v/alking  home  across  the  hills,  by  Great 
Langdale  and  Little  Langdale,  and  Fox  How  and  Loughrigg 
Fell,  she  dropped  behind  a  few  paces  with  Maulevrier,  and  said 
to  him  very  earnestly  : 

"  You  won't  tell,  will  you,  dear?  " 

"  Tell  what  ?  "  he  asked,  staring  at  her. 

"Don't  tell  Mr.  Hammond  what  I  said  about  his  thinking  me 
ugly.  He  might  want  to  apologize  to  me,  and  that  would  be 
too  humiliating.     1  was  very  childish  to  say  such  a  silly  thing." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  were." 

*'  And  you  won't  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him  anything  that  would  degrade  my  Mary  ?  Assail 
her  dignity  bv  so  much  as  a  breath  ?  Sooner  would  I  have  this 
tongue  torn  out  with  red-hot  pincers." 

On  the  next  day  and  the  next  sunshine  and  summer  skies  still 
prevailed,  but  Mr.  Hammond  did  not  seem  to  care  for  rambling 
far  afield.  He  preferred  loitering  about  the  village,  rowing  on 
the  lake,  reading  in  the  garden,  and  playing  lawn  tennis.  He 
had  only  inclination  for  those  amusements  which  kept  him  with- 
in a  stone's  throw  of  Fellside  ;  and  Mary  knew  that  this  disposi- 
tion had  arisen  in  his  mind  since  Lesbia  had  withdrawn  herself 
from  all  share  in  their  excursions.  She  had  not  been  rude  to 
her  brother,  or  her  brother's  friend  ;  she  had  declined  their  in- 
vitations with  smiles  and  sweetness  ;  but  there  was  always  some 
reason — a  nev/  song  to  be  practiced,  a  new  book  to  be  read,  a 


66  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

letter  to  be  written — why  she  should  not  go  for  drives  or  walks 
or  steamboat  trips  with  Maulevrier  and  his  friend. 

So  Mr.  Hammond  found  out  all  at  once  that  he  had  seen  all 
that  was  worth  seeing  in  the  Lake  country,  and  that  there  was 
nothing  so  enjoyable  as  the  placid  idleness  of  Fellside ;  and  at 
Fellside  Lady  Lesbia  could  not  always  avoid  him,  without  a  too 
marked  purpose  ;  so  he  tasted  the  sweetness  of  her  society  to  a 
much  greater  extent  than  was  good  for  his  peace,  if  the  case 
were  indeed  as  hopeless  as  Lady  Mary  declared.  He  strolled 
about  the  grounds  with  her  ;  he  drank  the  sweet  melody  of  her 
voice  in  Heine's  tenderest  ballads  set  to  Jensen's  tender  mel- 
odies— he  read  to  her  on  the  sun-lit  lawn  in  the  lazy  afternoon 
hours — he  played  billiards  with  her  ;  he  was  her  faithful  attend- 
ant at  afternoon  tea — he  gave  himself  up  to  the  study  of  her 
character,  which,  to  his  charmed  eyes,  seemed  the  perfection  of 
pure  and  placid  womanhood.  There  might,  perhaps,  be  some 
lack  of  passion  and  of  force  in  this  nature,  a  marked  absence  of 
that  impulsive  feeling  which  is  a  charm  in  some  women ;  but 
this  want  was  atoned  for  by  sweetness  of  character,  and  Mr. 
Hammond  argued  that  in  these  calm  natures  there  was  often  an 
unsuspected  depth,  a  latent  force,  a  grandeur  of  soul  which  only 
revealed  itself  in  the  great  ordeals  of  life. 

So  John  Hammond  hung  about  the  luxurious  drawing-room 
at  Fellside  in  a  manner  which  his  friend  Maulevrier  ridiculed  as 
unmanly. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  such  a  tame  cat,"  he  said  ;  "  if  when 
we  were  salmon  fishing  in  Canada  anybody  had  told  me  you 
could  loll  about  a  drawing-room  all  day  listening  to  a  girl  squall- 
ing, or  reading  novels,  I  shouldn't  have  believed  a  word  of  it." 

"  We  had  plenty  of  roughing  on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Law^ 
rence,"  answered  Hammond,  "  summer  idleness  in  a  drawing- 
room  is  an  agreeable  variety." 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  John  Hammond's  state  of  mind 
could  long  remain  unperceived  by  the  keen  eyes  of  the  dowager. 
She  saw  the  gradual  dawning  of  his  love,  she  saw  the  glow  of 
its  meridian.  She  was  pleased  to  behold  this  proof  of  Lesbia's 
over  the  heart  of  man.  So  would  she  conquer  the  man  fore- 
doomed to  be  her  husband  when  the  coming  time  should  bring 
them  together.  But  agreeable  as  the  fact  of  this  first  conquest 
might  be  as  an  evidence  of  Lesbia's  supremacy  among  women, 
the  situation  was  not  without  its  peril ;  and  Lady  Maulevrier 
felt  that  she  could  no  longer  defer  the  duty  of  warning  her 
granddaughter.  She  had  wished,  if  possible,  to  treat  the  thing 
Ughtly  to  the  very  last,  so  that  Lesbia  should  never  know  there 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  (,7 

had  been  danger.  She  had  told  her,  a  few  days  ago,  that  those 
drives  and  walks  with  the  two  young  men,  even  although  guard- 
ed by  the  Fraulein's  substantial  presence,  were  undignified. 

"  You  are  making  yourself  too  much  a  companion  to  Maule- 
vrier  and  his  friend,"  said  the  dowager.  "  If  you  do  not  take 
care  you  will  grow  like  Mary." 

"  I  would  do  anything  to  avoid  that,"  replied  Lesbia.  "  Our 
\valks  and  drives  have  been  very  pleasant.  Mr,  Hummond  is 
extremely  clever,  and  can  talk  about  everything." 

Her  color  heightened  ever  so  little  as  she  spoke  of  him,  an 
indication  duly  observed  by  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"  No  doubt  the  man  is  clever,  all  adventurers  are ;  and  you 
have  sense  enough  to  see  that  this  man  is  an  adventurer — a 
mere  sponge  and  toady  of  Maulevrier's." 

"There  is  nothing  in  his  manner  of  the  sponge  or  the  toady," 
protested  Lady  Lesbia,  with  a  very  palpable  blush,  the  warm 
glow  of  angry  feeling. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  do  you  know  of  such  people — or  of  the 
atmosphere  in  which  they  are  generated.  The  sponge  and 
toady  of  to-day  is  not  the  clumsy  swindler  you  have  read  about 
in  old-fashioned  novels.  He  can  fawn  and  flatter  and  feed 
upon  his  friends,  and  yet  maintain  a  show  of  manhood  and  inde- 
pendence. I'll  wager  Mr.  Hammond's  trip  to  Canada  did  not 
cost  him  sixpence,  and  that  he  hardly  opened  his  purse  all  the 
time  he  was  in  Switzerland." 

"  If  my  brother  wants  the  company  of  a  friend  who  is  much 
poorer  than  himself,  he  must  pay  for  it,"  argued  Lesbia.  "  1 
think  Maulevrier  is  lucky  to  have  such  a  companion  as  Mr. 
Hammond." 

Yet,  even  while  she  argued.  Lady  Lesbia  felt  in  some  manner 
humiliated  by  the  idea  that  this  man  who  so  palpably  worship- 
ed her  was  too  poor  to  pay  his  own  traveling  expenses. 

Let  poets  and  philosophers  say  what  they  will  about  the  grand- 
eur of  plain  living  and  high  thinking,  a  young  woman  thinks  bet- 
ter of  the  plain-liver  who  is  not  compelled  to  simplicity  by  want 
of  cash.  The  idea  of  narrow  means,  of  dependence  upon  the 
capricious  generosity  of  a  wealthy  friend,  is  not  without  its  hu- 
miliating influence.  Lesbia  was  barely  civil  to  Mr.  Hammond 
that  evening,  when  he  praised  her  singing,  and  she  refused  to 
join  in  a  four  game  proposed  by  Maulevrier,  albeit  she  and  Mr. 
Hammond  had  beaten  Mary  and  Maulevrier  the  evening  before 
with  much  exultant  hilarity. 

Mr.  Hammond  had  been  at  Fellside  nearly  a  month,  and 
Maulevrier  was  beginning  to  talk  about  a  move  further  north- 


68  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

ward.  There  was  a  grouse  moor  in  Argyleshire  which  the  two 
young  men  talked  about  as  belonging  to  some  unnamed  friend 
of  the  earl's,  which  they  had  thought  of  shooting  over  before 
the  grouse  season  was  ended. 

"  Lord  Hartfield  has  property  in  Argyleshire,"  said  the  dowa- 
ger, when  they  talked  of  these  shootings.  "  Do  you  know  his 
estate,  Mr.  Hammond?" 

"  Hammond  knows  that  there  is  such  a  place,  I  dare  say,"  re- 
plied Maulevrier,  replying  for  his  friend. 

"  But  you  do  not  know  Lord  Hartfield,  perhaps,"  said  her 
Ladyship,  not  arrogantly,  but  still  in  a  tone  which  implied  her 
conviction  that  John  Hammond  could  not  be  hand-in-glove  wiih 
earls  in  Scotland  or  elsewhere. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  him — by  sight — ever}^  one  in  Argyleshire 
knows  him  by  sight." 

"  Naturally,  a  young  man  in  his  position  would  be  widely 
known.     Is  he  popular  ?  " 

"  Fairly  so." 

"  His  father  and  1  were  friends  many  years  ago,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier,  with  a  faint  sigh.  "  Have  you  ever  heard  if  he  re- 
sembles his  father }  " 

"  I  believe  not.     I  am  told  he  is  like  his  mother's  family." 

"Then  he  ought  to  be  handsome;  Lady  Florence  Ilmington 
was  a  famous  beauty." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  the  room 
dimly  lighted  with  darkly-shaded  lamps,  the  windows  wide  open 
to  the  summer  sky  and  moon-lit  lake.  In  that  subdued  light 
Lady  Maulevrier  looked  a  woman  in  the  prime  of  life.  The 
classical  modeling  of  her  features,  the  delicacy  of  her  complex- 
ion, were  unimpaired  by  time  ;  and  those  traces  of  thought  and 
care  which  gave  age  to  her  face  in  the  broad  light  of  day  were 
invisible  at  night.  John  Hammond  contemplated  that  refined 
and  placid  countenance  with  profound  admiration.  He  remem- 
bered how  her  Ladyship's  grandson  had  compared  her  with  the 
Sphinx  ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  night,  as  he  studied  that 
proud  and  tranquil  beauty,  that  there  was  indeed  something  of 
the  mysterious,  the  unreadable,  in  that  countenance,  and  that 
beneath  its  heroic  calm  there  might  be  the  asiies  of  tragic  pas- 
sion, the  traces  of  a  life-long  struggle  with  Fate.  That  such  a 
woman,  so  beautiful,  so  gifted,  so  well  fitted  to  shine  and  govern 
in  the  great  world,  should  have  been  content  to  live  a  long  life 
of  absolute  seclusion  in  this  remote  valley  was  in  itself  a  social 
mystery  which  must  needs  set  any  observant  young  man  won- 
dering.    It  was  all  very  well  to  say  that  Lady  Maulevrier  loved 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  69 

a  country  life,  that  she  had  made  Fellside  her  earthly  Paradise, 
and  that  she  had  no  desire  beyond  it.  The  fact  remained  that 
it  was  not  in  Lady  Maulevrier's  temperament  to  be  satisfied  with 
such  an  existence — that  falcon  eye  was  never  meant  to  gaze  for- 
ever upon  one  narrow  range  of  mountain  and  lake,  that  lip  was 
meant  to  speak  among  the  great  ones  of  the  world. 

Lady  Maulevrier  was  particularly  gracious  to  her  grandson's 
friend  this  evening.  Maulevrier  spoke  so  decisively  about  a 
speedy  migration  northward,  seemed  so  inclined  to  regret  the 
time  wasted  since  the  twelfth  of  the  month,  that  she  thought  the 
danger  was  past,  and  that  she  could  afford  to  be  civil.  She 
really  liked  the  young  man,  had  no  doubt  in  her  own  mind  that 
he  was  a  gentleman  in  the  highest  and  broadest  sense  of  the 
word,  but  not  in  the  sense  which  made  him  an  eligible  husband 
for  either  of  her  granddaughters. 

Lesbia  was  in  a  pensive  mood  this  evening.  She  sat  in  the 
veranda,  looking  dreamily  at  the  lake,  and  at  Fairfield  yonder, 
the  broad  green  slope  silvered  with  moonlight  and  seeming  to 
stretch  far  away  into  unfathomable  distance. 

Ah,  how  sweet  life  would  be  if  one  could  but  take  one's  lover 
by  the  hand  and  go  wandering  over  those  mystic  moonlit  slopes 
into  some  new  unreal  world  where  it  would  not  matter  whether 
a  man  were  rich  or  poor,  high-born  or  low-born,  where  there 
should  be  no  such  things  as  rank  and  state  to  be  won  or  lost. 
Lesbia  felt  to-night  as  if  she  w^ould  like  to  live  out  her  life  in 
dream-land.  Reality  was  too  hard,  too  much  set  round  by  diffi- 
culties and  sacrifices.  » 

While  Lesbia  was  losing  herself  in  that  dream-world,  Lady 
Maulevrier  unbent  considerably  to  Mr.  Hammond,  and  talked 
to  him  with  more  appearance  of  interest  in  his  actual  self,  and 
in  his  own  affairs,  than  she  had  manifested  hitherto,  although 
she  had  been  uniformly  courteous. 

She  asked  him  his  plans  for  the  future— had  he  chosen  a  pro- 
fession ? 

He  told  her  that  he  had  not.  He  meant  to  devote  himself  to 
literature  and  politics. 

"  Is  not  that  rather  vague  ?  "  inquired  her  Ladyship. 

"  Everything  is  vague  at  first." 

"  But  literature  now — as  an  amusement,  no  doubt,  it  is  de- 
lightful— but  as  a  profession — does  literature  ever  pay  ?  " 

"  There  have  been  such  cases." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Gibbon,  Macaulay, 
Froude,  those  made  money  no  doubt.  But  there  is  a  suspicion 
of  hopelessness  in   the  idea  of  a  young  man  starting  in  life   in- 


70  PHANTOM  FORTUNE^ 

tending  to  earn  his  bread  by  literature.  One  remembers  Chat- 
terton.  I  should  have  thought  that  in  your  case  the  law  or  the 
church  would  have  been  better.  In  the  latter  profession  Mau- 
levrier  might  have  been  useful  to  you.  He  is  patron  of  three  or 
four  livings." 

"  You  are  too  good  even  to  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said  Ham- 
mond ;  "  but  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  a  political  career — I 
must  swim  or  sink  in  that  sea." 

Lady  Maulevrier  looked  at  him  with  a  compassionate  smile. 
Poor  young  man  !  No  doubt  he  thought  himself  a  genius,  and 
that  doors  which  had  remained  shut  to  everybody  else  would 
turn  on  their  hinges  directly  he  knocked  at  them.  She  was 
sincerely  sorry  for  him.  Young,  clever,  enthusiastic,  and  doomed 
to  bitterest  disappointment. 

"  You  have  parents,  perhaps,  who  are  ambitious  for  you — a 
mother  who  thinks  her  son  a  heaven-born  statesman  !  "  said  her 
Ladyship,  kindly. 

"Alas,  no !  that  grand  incentive  to  ambition  is  wanting  in  my 
case.     I  have  neither  father  nor  mother  living." 

"  That  is  very  sad.  No  doubt  that  fact  has  been  a  bond  of 
sympathy  between  you  and  Maulevrier  t " 

"  I  believe  it  has." 

"  Well,  I  hope  Providence  will  smile  upon  your  patho" 

"Come  what  may,  I  shall  never  forget  the  happy  weeks  I 
have  spent  at  Fellside,"  said  Hammond,  *'  or  your  Ladyship's 
gracious  hospitality." 

He  took  up  the  beautiful  hand,  white  to  transparency,  and 
showing  the  delicate  tracing  of  blue  veins,  and  pressed  his  lips 
upon  it,  in  chivalrous  worship  of  age  and  womanly  dignity. 

Lady  Maulevrier  smiled  upon  him  with  her  calm,  grave  smile. 
She  would  have  liked  to  say,  "You  shall  be  welcome  again 
at  Fellside,"  but  she  felt  that  the  man  was  dangerous.  Not 
while  Lesbia  remained  single  could  she  court  his  company.  If 
Maulevrier  brought  him  she  must  tolerate  his  presence,  but  she 
would  do  nothing  to  invite  that  danger. 

There  was  no  music  that  evening.  Maulevrier  and  Mary  were 
playing  billiards  ;  Fraulein  Kirsch  was  sitting  in  her  corner  work- 
ing at  a  high-art  counterpane.  Lesbia  came  in  from  the  veran- 
da presently,  and  sat  on  a  low  stool  by  her  grandmother's  arm- 
chair, and  talked  to  her  in  soft,  cooing  accents,  inaudible  to 
John  Hammond,  who  sat  a  little  way  off  turning  the  leaves  of 
the  Contemporary  Review  ;  and  this  went  on  till  eleven  o'clock, 
the  regular  hour  for  retiring,  when  Mary  came  in  from  the  bill- 
iard room,  and  told  Mr,  Hammond  that  Maulevrier  was  wait- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  71 

ing  for  a  smoke  and  a  talk.  Then  candles  were  lighted,  and 
the  ladies  all  departed,  leaving  John  Hammond  and  his  friend 
with  the  house  to  themselves. 

They  played  a  fifty  game,  and  smoked  and  talked  till  the 
stroke  of  midnight,  by  which  time  it  seemed  as  if  there  were 
not  another  creature  awake  in  the  house.  Maulevrier  put  out 
the  lamps  in  the  billiard  room,  and  then  went  softly  up  the 
shadowy  staircase,  and  parted  in  the  gallery,  the  earl  going  one 
way  and  his  friend  the  other. 

The  house  was  large  and  roomy,  spread  over  a  good  deal  of 
ground,  Lady  Maulevrier  having  insisted  upon  there  being  only 
two  stories.  The  servant's  rooms  were  all  in  a  side  wing,  cor- 
responding with  those  older  buildings  which  had  been  given 
over  to  Steadman  and  his  wife,  and  among  the  villagers  of  Gras- 
mere  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  haunted.  A  wide  paneled 
corridor  extended  from  one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other.  It 
was  lighted  from  the  roof,  and  served  as  a  gallery  for  the  dis- 
play of  a  small  and  choice  collection  of  modern  art,  which  her 
Ladyship  had  acquired  during  her  long  residence  at  Fellside. 
Here,  too,  in  Sherraton  cabinets,  were  those  treasures  of  old 
English  china  which  Maulevrier  had  inherited  from  past  genera- 
tions. 

Her  Ladyship's  rooms  were  situated  at  the  southern  end  of 
this  corridor,  her  bedchamber  being  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
house,  with  windows  commanding  two  magnificent  views,  one 
across  the  lake  and  the  village  of  Grasmere  to  the  green  slopes 
of  Fairfield,  the  other  along  the  valley  toward  Rydal  Water. 
This  and  the  adjoining  boudoir  were  the  prettiest  rooms  in  the 
house ;  and  no  one  wondered  that  her  Ladyship  should  spend 
so  much  of  her  life  in  the  luxurious  seclusion  of  her  own  apart- 
ments. 

John  Hammond  went  to  his  room,  which  was  on  the  same 
side  of  the  house  as  her  Ladyship's  ;  but  he  was  in  no  disposition 
for  sleep.  He  opened  the  casement,  and  stood  looking  out  on 
the  moon-lit  lake  and  the  quiet  village,  where  one  solitary  light 
shone  like  a  faint  star,  in  a  cottage  window,  amidst  that  little 
cluster  of  houses  by  the  old  church,  which  was  once  known  as 
Kirktown.  Beyond  the  village  rose  gentle  slopes,  crowned  with 
foliage,  and  above  those  fertile  wooded  crests  appeared  the 
grand  outline  of  the  hills,  surrounding  and  guarding  Easedale's 
lonely  valley,  as  the  hills  surrounded  Jerusalem  of  old. 

He  looked  at  this  delicious  landscape  with  eyes  that  hardly 
saw  its  beauty.  The  image  of  a  lovely  face  came  between  him 
and  all  the  glory  of  earth  and  sky. 


72 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


"  I  think  she  likes  me,"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  "  There 
was  a  look  in  her  eyes  to-night  that  told  me  the  time  was  come 
when — " 

The  thought  died  unfinished  in  his  brain.  Through  the  silent 
house,  across  the  placid  lake,  there  rang  a  wild,  shrill  cry  that 
froze  the  blood  in  his  veins,  or  seemed  so  to  freeze  it — a  shriek 
of  agony,  and  in  a  woman's  voice.  It  rang  out  from  an  open 
window  near  his  own.     The  sound  seemed  close  to  his  ear. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"O    BITTERNESS    OF    THINGS   TOO    SWEET." 

Only  for  an  instant  did  John  Hammond  stand  motionless 
after  hearing  that  unearthly  shriek.  In  the  next  moment  he 
rushed  into  the  corridor,  expecting  to  hear  the  sound  re- 
peated, to  find  hmiself  face  to  face  with  some  midnight  robber 
whose  presence  had  caused  that  wild  cry  of  alarm.  But  in  the 
corridor  all  was  silent  as  the  grave.  No  open  door  suggested 
the  entrance  of  an  intruder.  The  dimly-burning  lamps  showed 
only  the  long  empty  gallery.  He  stood  still  for  a  few  moments 
listening  for  voices,  footsteps,  the  rustle  of  garments,  but  there 
was  nothing. 

Nothing  ?  Yes,  a  groan,  a  long-drawn  moaning  sound  as  of 
unutterable  pain.  This  time  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  sound  came.  It  came  from  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  room.  The  door  was  ajar  and  he  could  see  the  faint  light 
of  the  night  lamp  within.  That  fearful  cry  had  come  from  her 
Ladyship's  room.     She  was  in  peril  or  pain  of  some  kind. 

Convinced  of  this  one  fact  Mr.  Hammond  had  not  an  instant's 
hesitation,  but  pushed  open  the  door  without  compunction  and 
entered  the  room,  prepared  to  behold  some  terrible  scene. 

But  all  was  quiet  as  death  itself.  No  midnight  burglar  had 
violated  the  sanctity  ot  Lady  Maulevrier's  apartment.  The  soft, 
steady  light  of  the  night-lamp  shone  on  the  face  of  the  sleeper. 
Yes,  all  was  quiet  in  the  room,  but  not  in  the  sleeper's  soul. 
The  broad  white  brow  was  painfully  contracted,  the  lips  drawn 
down  and  distorted,  the  delicate  hand,  half  hidden  by  the  deep 
Valenciennes  ruffle,  clutched  the  coverlet  with  convulsive  force 
— sigh  after  sigh  burst  from  the  agitated  breast.  John  Ham- 
mond gazed  upon  the  sleeper  in  an  agony  of  apprehension,  un- 
certain what  to  do.     Was  this  dreaming  only,  or  was  it  some 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  73 

kind  of  seizure  which  called  for  medical  aid  ?  At  her  Ladyship's 
age  the  idea  of  a  paralysis  was  not  too  improbable  for  belief. 
If  this  was  a  dream,  then  indeed  the  visions  of  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  head  upon  her  bed  were  more  terrible  than  the  dreams  of 
common  mortals. 

In  any  case  Mr.  Hammond  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  send 
some  attendant  to  Lady  Maulevrier,  some  member  of  the  house- 
hold who  was  famiUar  with  her  Ladyship's  habits,  her  own  maid, 
if  that  person  could  be  unearthed  easily.  He  knew  that  the 
servants  slept  in  a  separate  wing,  but  he  thought  it  more  than 
likely  that  her  Ladyship's  personal  attendant  occupied  a  room 
near  her  mistress. 

He  went  back  to  the  corridor,  and  looked  round  him  in  doubt 
for  a  moment  or  two. 

Close  against  her  Ladyship's  door  there  was  a  swing  door, 
covered  with  dark,  red  cloth,  which  seemed  to  communicate  with 
the  old  part  of  the  house.  John  Hammond  pushed  this  door, 
and  it  yielded  to  his  hand,  revealing  a  lamp-lit  passage,  narrow, 
old-fashioned,  and  low.  He  thought  it  likely  that  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  maid  might  occupy  a  room  in  this  half-deserted  wing.  As 
he  pushed  open  the  door  he  saw  an  elderly  man  coming  toward 
him,  with  a  candle  in  his  hand,  and  with  the  appearance  of  hav- 
ing flung  on  his  clothes  hastily. 

"  You  heard  that  scream  ?  "  said  Hammond. 

"  Yes.  It  was  her  Ladyship,  I  suppose — nightmare.  She  is 
subject  to  nightmare." 

"  It  is  very  dreadful.  Her  whole  countenance  was  convulsed 
just  now,  when  I  went  into  her  room  to  see  what  was  wrong.  I 
was  almost  afraid  of  a  fit  of  some  kind.  Ought  not  her  maid  to 
go  to  her  t  " 

"  She  wants  no  assistance,"  the  man  answered  coolly.  "  It 
was  only  a  dream.  It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  been  awak- 
ened by  a  shriek  like  that.  It  is  a  kind  of  nightmare,  no  doubt, 
and  it  passes  off  in  a  few  minutes,  and  leaves  her  sleeping 
calmly." 

He  went  to  her  Ladyship's  door,  pushed  it  open  a  little  way 
and  looked  in. 

"  Yes,  she  is  sleeping  as  quietly  as  an  infant,"  he  said,  :}iVrt- 
ting  the  door  softly  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  am  very  glad  ;  but  surely  she  ought  to  have  her  maid  near 
her  at  night,  if  she  is  subject  to  those  attacks." 

"  It  is  no  attack,  I  tell  you,  It  is  nothing  but  a  dream," 
answered  Steadman,  impatiently. 

"Yet  you  were  frightened,  just  as   I  was,  or  you  would  not 


74  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

have  got  up  and  dressed,"  said  Hammond,  looking  at  the  man 
suspiciously. 

He  had  heard  of  this  old  servant  Steadman,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  enjoy  more  of  her  Ladyship's  confidence  than  any  one 
else  in  the  household ;  but  he  had  never  spoken  to  the  man  be- 
fore that  night. 

"  Yes,  I  came.  It  was  my  duty  to  come,  knowing  her  Lady- 
ship's habits.  I  am  a  light  sleeper,  and  that  scream  woke  me 
instantly.  If  her  Ladyship's  maid  were  wanted  I  should  call  her. 
I  am  a  kind  of  watch-dog  you  see,  sir." 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  very  faithful  dog." 

"  I  have  been  in  her  Ladyship's  service  m.ore  than  forty  years. 
I  have  reason  to  be  faithful.  I  know  her  Ladyship's  habits  bet- 
ter than  any  one  in  the  house.  I  know  that  she  has  had  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  in  her  early  life,  and  I  believe  the  memory  of  it 
comes  back  upon  her  sometimes  in  her  dreams,  and  gets  the 
better  of  her." 

"  If  it  was  memory  that  wrung  that  agonized  shriek  from  her 
just  now,  her  recollections  of  the  past  must  be  very  terrible." 

"  Ah,  sir,  there  is  a  skeleton  in  every  house,"  answered  James 
Steadman,  gravely. 

This  was  exactly  what  Maulevrier  had  said  under  the  yew 
trees  which  Wordsworth  planted. 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Steadman. 

"  Good-night.  You  are  sure  that  Lady  Maulevrier  may  be 
left  safely — that  there  is  no  fear  of  illness  of  any  kind  1 " 

'•  No,  sir.     It  was  only  a  bad  dream.     Good-night,  sir." 

Steadman  went  back  to  his  own  quarters.  Mr.  Hammond 
heard  him  draw  the  bolts  of  the  swing  door,  thus  cutting  off  all 
communication  with  the  corridor. 

The  fine  old  eight-day  clock  in  the  staircase  struck  one  as 
Mr.  Hammond  returned  to  his  room,  even  less  inclined  for 
sleep  than  when  he  left  it.  Strange,  that  nocturnal  disturbance 
of  a  mind  which  seemed  so  tranquil  in  the  day.  Or  was  that 
tranquillity  only  a  semblance — a  mask  which  her  Ladyship  wore 
before  the  world,  and  was  the  bitter  memory  of  events  which 
happened  forty  years  ago  still  a  source  of  anguish  to  that  highly 
strung  nature  ? 

"  There  are  some  minds  which  cannot  forget,"  John  Ham- 
mond said  to  himself  as  he  meditated  upon  her  Ladyship's  char- 
acter and  history.  "  The  story  of  her  husband's  crime  may  still 
be  fresh  in  her  memory,  though  it  is  only  a  tradition  for  the  out- 
side world.  His  crime  may  have  involved  some  deep  wrong  to 
herself,  some  outrage  against  her  love  and  faith  as  a  wife.     One 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  7  5 

of  the  stories  Maulevrier  spoke  of  the  other  day  was  of  a  wicked 
woman's  influence  upon  the  governor — a  much  more  likely  story 
than  that  of  any  traffic  in  British  interests,  or  British  honor, 
which  would  have  been  almost  impossible  for  a  man  in  Lord 
Maulevrier's  position.  If  the  scandal  was  of  that  darker  kind 
— a  guilty  wife — the  mysterious  disappearance  of  a  husband — 
the  horror  of  the  thing  may  have  made  a  deeper  impression  on 
Lady  Maulevrier  than  even  her  nearest  and  dearest  dream  of ; 
and  that  superb  calm  which  she  wears  like  a  royal  mantle — that 
queen-like  bearing  and  gracious  smile  with  which  she  greets  all 
comers — may  be  maintained  at  the  cost  of  struggles  which  tear 
her  heart-strings.  And  then  at  night,  when  the  will  is  dormant, 
when  the  nervous  system  of  the  brain  is  no  longer  dominated  by 
the  sovereign  power  of  waking  intelligence,  the  old  family  agony 
returns,  the  hated  images  flash  back  upon  the  brain  with  all 
the  pictorial  power  of  a  fervent  imagination,  and  in  proportion 
to  the  fineness  of  the  nature  and  temperament  is  the  intensity 
of  the  dreamer's  pain. 

And  then  he  went  on  to  reflect  upon  the  long,  monotonous 
years  spent  in  that  one  house,  shut  in  from  the  world  by  those 
everlasting  hills.  Albeit  the  house  was  an  ideal  house,  set  in  a 
landscape  of  infinite  beauty,  the  monotony  was  none  the  less 
oppressive  for  a  mind  burdened  with  dark  memories,  weighed 
down  by  sorrows  which  could  seek  no  relief  from  sympathy, 
which  could  never  become  familiarized  by  discussion. 

"  I  wonder  that  a  woman  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  intellect  should 
not  have  better  known  how  to  treat  her  own  malady,"  thought 
Hammond. 

Mr.  Hammond  inquired  after  her  Ladyship's  health  next  morn- 
ing, and  was  told  she  was  perfectly  well. 

"  Grandmamma  is  in  capital  spirits,"  said  Lady  Lesbia.  "  She 
is  pleased  with  the  contents  of  yesterday's  Globe.  Lord  Den- 
yer,  the  son  of  one  of  her  oldest  friends,  has  been  making  a 
great  speech  at  Liverpool  in  the  Conservative  interest,  and  her 
Ladyship  thinks  we  shall  have  a  change  of  parties  before  long." 

"A  general  shuffle  of  the  cards,"  said  Maulevrier,  looking  up 
from  his  breakfast.  "  I'm  sure  I  hope  so.  I'm  no  politician, 
but  I  like  a  row." 

"  I  hope  you  are  a  Conservative,  Mr.  Hammond,"  said  Lesbia. 

"  I  had  hoped  you  would  have  known  that  ever  so  long  ago, 
Lady  Lesbia." 

Lesbia  blushed  at  his  tone,  which  was  almost  a  reproach. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  have  understood  from  the  general 
tenor  of  vour  conversation,"  she  said,  "  but  I  am  terribly  stupid 


76  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

about  politics.  I  take  so  little  interest  in  them.  I  am  always 
hearing  that  we  are  being  badly  governed — that  the  men  who 
legislate  for  us  are  stupid  or  wicked — yet  the  world  seems  to  go 
on  somehow,  and  we  are  no  worse." 

"It  is  just  the  same  with  sport,"  said  Maulevrier.  "Every 
rainy  Spring  we  are  told  that  all  the  young  birds  have  been 
drowned,  and  that  we  shall  have  nothing  to  shoot ;  but  when 
August  comes  the  birds  are  there  all  the  same." 

"  It  is  the  nature  of  mankind  to  complain,"  said  Hammond. 
"  Cain  and  Abel  were  the  first  farmers,  and  you  see  one  of  them 
grumbled." 

They  were  rather  lively  at  breakfast  that  morning — Maule- 
vrier's  last  breakfast  but  one — for  he  had  announced  his  deter- 
mination of  going  to  Scotland  next  day.  Other  fellov/s  would 
have  shot  all  the  birds  if  he  dawdled  any  longer.  Mary  was  in 
deep  despondency  at  the  idea  of  his  departure,  yet  she  laughed 
and  talked  with  the  rest.  And  perhaps  Lesbia  felt  ever  so 
little  moved  at  the  thought  of  losing  Mr.  Hammond.  Maulevrier 
would  come  back  to  Mary,  but  Mr.  Hammond  was  hardly  likely 
to  return.     Their  parting  would  be  forever. 

"  You  needn't  sit  quite  in  my  pocket,  Moll,"  said  Maulevrier 
to  his  young  sister. 

"  I  like  to  make  the  most  of  you,  now  you  are  going  away," 
sighed  Mary.  "  Oh,  dear,  how  dull  we  shall  all  be  when  you 
are  gone." 

"  Not  a  bit  01  it.  You  will  have  some  fox  hunting,  perhaps, 
before  the  snow  is  on  the  hills." 

At  the  very  mention  of  fox-hounds  Lady  Mary's  bright  young 
face  crimsoned,  and  Maulevrier  began  to  laugh  in  a  provoking 
way,  with  side-long  glances  at  his  sister. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Molly's  fox  hunting,  by-the-bye,  Ham- 
mond } "  he  asked. 

Mary  tried  to  put  her  hand  before  his  lips,  but  it  was  useless. 

"  wiry  shouldn't  I  tell  ?  "  he  asked.  "  It  was  quite  a  heroic 
adventure.  You  must  know  our  fox  hunting  here  is  rather  a 
peculiar  institution,  very  good  in  its  way,  but  strictly  local.  No 
horse  could  live  among  our  hills,  so  we  hunt  on  foot,  and  as  the 
pace  is  good  and  the  work  hard  nobody  who  starts  with  the 
hounds  is  likely  to  be  in  at  the  death,  except  the  huntsman. 
We  are  all  mad  for  the  sport,  and  off  we  go  over  the  hills  and 
far  away,  picking  up  fresh  sportsmen  as  we  go.  The  plow- 
man leaves  his  plow,  and  the  shepherd  leaves  his  fiock,  and 
the  farmer  leaves  his  thrashing  to  follow  us ;  in  every  field  we 
cross  we  get  fresh  blood,  while  those  who  join  us  at  the  start 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  77 

fall  off  by  degrees.  Well,  it  happened  one  day  late  in  Octobci, 
when  there  were  long  ridges  of  snow  on  Helvellyn's  dark  brow, 
and  patches  of  white  on  Fairfield,  Mistress  Mary  here  must 
needs  take  her  bamboo  staff  and  start  for  the  Striding  Edge. 
It  was  just  the  day  upon  which  she  might  have  met  her  death 
easily  on  that  perilous  ridge,  and  no  doubt  that  is  why  she 
chose  it;  but  happily  something  occurred  to  divert  her  Ladyship's 
fancy,  for  scarcely  had  she  reached  the  bottom  of  Dolly  Wagon 
Pike — NOM  know  Dolly — " 

"  Intimately,"  said  Hammond,  wath  a  nod. 

"  Scarcely  had  she  neared  Dolly  Wagon  when  she  heard  the 
huntsman's  horn  and  the  hounds  in  full  cry  streaming  along 
toward  Grisdale  Tarn.  Oif  flew  Molly,  all  among  the  butcher 
boys,  and  farmers'  men,  and  rosy-cheeked  squireens  of  the  dis- 
trict— racing  over  the  rugged  fields — clambering  over  the  low 
stone  walls — up  hill,  down  hill — shouting  when  the  others 
shouted — never  losing  sight  of  the  tails  of  the  hounds — winding 
and  doubling,  and  still  going  upward  and  upward,  till  she  stood, 
panting  and  puffing  like  a  young  grampus,  on  the  top  of  Hel- 
vellyn,  still  all  among  the  butcher  boys,  and  the  farmers'  men, 
and  the  guides,  and  the  red-cheeked  squireens,  her  frock  torn  to 
ribbons,  her  hat  lost  in  a  ditch,  her  hair  streaming  down  her 
back,  and  every  inch  of  her,  from  the  pose  downward,  splashed 
and  spattered  with  mire  and  clay.  What  a  spectacle  for  gods 
and  men,  guides  and  butcher  boys.  And  there  she  stood  with 
the  sun  going  down  beyond  Coniston  Old  Man,  and  a  seven- 
mile  walk  between  her  and  Fellside." 

"  Poor  Lady  Mary ! "  said  Hammond,  looking  at  her  very 
kindly;  but  Mary  did  not  see  that  friendly  glance  which  betok- 
ened sympathy  rather  than  scorn. 

She  sat  silent  and  very  red,  with  drooping  eyelids,  thinking 
her  brother  horribly  cruel  for  thus  publishing  her  foolishness. 

^'  Poor,  indeed.  She  came  crawling  home  after  dark,  footsore 
and  draggled,  looking  like  a  beggar  girl,  and  as  evil  fate  w^ould 
have  it,  her  Ladyship  must  needs  have  been  taking  afternoon  tea 
at  the  vicarage  upon  that  particular  occasion,  and  was  driving 
up  the  avenue  as  Mary  crawled  to  the  gate.  The  storm  that 
followed  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  described." 

"It  was  years  and  years  ago,"  expostulated  Mary,  looking 
very  angry.  "  I  was  quite  a  child.  Grandmother  needn't  have 
made  such  a  fuss  about  it." 

"  Ah,  but  in  those  days  she  still  had  hopes  of  civilizing  you," 
answered  Maulevrier.  "  Since  then  she  has  abandoned  all  en- 
deavor in  that  direction,  and  has  given  you  up  to  your  own  de- 


78  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

vices — and  me.     Since  then  you  have  become  a  chartered  hber-| 
tine — you  have  letters  of  mark." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  call  me,"  said  Mary.  "  I  only  know 
that  I  am  very  happy  when  you  are  at  home,  and  very  miserable 
when  you  are  away." 

"  It  is  hardly  kind  of  you  to  say  that.  Lady  Mary,"  remonstra- 
ted Fraulein  Kirsch,  who  up  to  this  point  had  been  busily  en- 
gaged with  muffins  and  gooseberry  jam, 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that  any  one  is  unkind  to  me  or  uses  me 
badly,"  said  Mary.  "  I  only  mean  that  my  life  is  empty  when 
Maulevrier  is  away,  and  that  1  am  always  longing  for  him  to 
come  back  again." 

"  I  thought  you  adored  the  hills,  and  the  lake,  and  the  vil- 
lagers, and  your  pony,  and  Maulevrier's  dogs,"  said  Lesbia, 
faintly  contemptuous.    . 

"  Yes,  but  one  wants  something  human  to  love,"  answered 
Mary,  making  it  very  obvious  that  there  was  no  warmth  of  affec- 
tion between  her  and  the  feminine  members  of  her  family. 

She  had  no  thought  of  the  significance  of  her  speech.  She 
was  very  angry  with  Maulevrier  for  having  held  her  up  to  ridi- 
cule before  Mr.  Hammond,  who  already  despised  her,  as  she  be- 
lieved, and  whose  contempt  was  more  galling  than  it  need  have 
been,  considering  that  he  was  a  mere  casual  visitor  who  would 
go  away  and  return  no  more.  Never  till  his  coming  had  she  felt 
her  deficiencies,  but  in  his  presence  she  writhed  under  the  sense 
of  her  unworthiness,  and  had  an  almost  agonizing  consciousness 
of  all  those  faults  which  her  grandmother  had  told  her  about  so 
often,  with  not  the  slightest  effect.  In  those  days  she  had  not 
cared  what  Lady  Maulevrier  or  anyone  else  might  say  of  her  or 
think  of  her.  She  lived  her  life,  and  defied  fortune.  She  was 
worse  than  her  reputation.  To-day  she  felt  it  a  bitter  thing  that 
she  had  grown  to  the  age  of  womanhood  lacking  all  those  graces 
and  accomplishments  which  made  her  beautiful  sister  adorable, 
and  which  might  make  even  a  plain  woman  charming. 

Never  till  John  Hammond's  coming  had  she  felt  a  pang  of 
envy  in  the  contemplation  of  Lesbia's  beauty  or  Lesbia's  grace  ; 
but  now  she  had  so  keen  a  sense  of  the  difference  between  her- 
self and  her  sister  that  she  began  to  fear  that  this  cruel  pain  must 
indeed  be  the  lowest  of  all  vices.  Even  the  difference  in  their 
gowns  was  a  source  of  humiliation  to  her  now.  Lesbia  was 
looking  her  loveliest  this  morning,  in  a  gown  that  was  all  lace 
and  soft  Madras  muslin,  flowing,  diaphanous,  cloudlike,  while 
Mary's  tailor  gown,  with  its  trim  tight  bodice,  horn  buttons  and 
kilted  skirt,  seemed  to  cry  aloud  that  it  had  been  made  for  atom- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


79 


boy.  And  this  tailor  gown  was  a  costume  to  which  Mar\^  had 
condemned  herself  by  her  own  folly.  Only  a  year  ago,  moved 
by  an  artistic  admiration  of  Lesbia's  delicate  breakfast  gowns, 
Mary  had  told  her  grandmother  that  she  would  like  to  have  gowns 
of  the  same  kind  ;  whereupon  the  dowager,  who  did  not  take  the 
faintest  interest  in  Mary's  toilet,  but  who  had  a  stern  sense  of 
justice,  replied  : 

''  I  do  not  think  Lesbia's  frocks  and  your  habits  will  agree, 
but  you  can  have  some  pretty  morning  gowns  if  you  like ;  "  and 
the  order  was  forthwith  given  for  a  confection  in  muslin  and  lace 
for  Lady  Mary. 

Mary  came  down  to  breakfast  one  bright  June  morning,  in  a 
new  frock,  feeling  very  proud  of  herself,  and  looking  very 
pretty. 

"  Fine  feathers  make  fine  birds,"  said  Fraulein  Kirsch.  "  I 
should  hardly  have  known  you." 

"I  wish  you  would  always  dress  like  that,"  said  Lesbia. 
"  You  really  look  like  a  young  lady ;  "  and  Mary  had  danced 
about  on  the  lawn  feeling  sylph-like,  and  quite  in  love  with  her 
own  elegance,  when  a  sudden  cry  of  canine  voices  in  the  distance 
had  sent  her  ikying  to  see  what  was  the  matter  with  the  terrier 
pack. 

In  the  kennel  there  was  riot  and  confusion.  Ahab  was  demol- 
ishmg  Angelina,  Absalom  and  Agamemnon  were  annihilating 
each  other.  Dog-whip  in  hand,  Mary  rushed  to  the  rescue,  and 
laid  about  her,  like  the  knights  of  old,  utterly  forgetful  of  her 
frock.  She  left  the  kennel  panting,  and  in  rags  and  tatters, 
some  of  the  muslin  and  lace  hanging  about  her  in  strips  a  yard 
long,  but  the  greater  part  remaining  in  the  possession  of  the  ter- 
riers, the  lively  pack  having  mauled  and  munched  her  finery  to 
their  heart's  delight  while  she  was  reading  the  Riot  Act. 

She  went  back  to  the  house  bowed  down  by  shame  and  con- 
fusion, and  marched  straight  to  the  dowager's  morning-room. 

_"  Look  what  the  terriers  have  done  to  me,  grandmother,"  she 
said,  with  a  sob.  "  It  is  all  my  own  fault,  of  course.  I  ought 
not  to  have  gone  near  them  in  that  stupid  muslin.  Please  for- 
give me  for  being  so  foolish.     I  am  not  fit  to  have  pretty  frocks." 

"  I  think,  my  dear,  you  can  now  have  no  doubt  that  the  tailor- 
gowns  are  fittest  for  you,",  answered  Lady  Maulevrier  with  crush- 
ing placidity.  "  We  have  tried  the  experiment  of  dressing  you 
like  Lesbia,  and  you  see  it  does  not  answer.  Tell  Kibble  to 
throw  your  new  gown  in  the  rag-bag,  and  please  let  me  hear  no 
more  about  it." 

After  this  dismal  failure  IMary  could  not  feel  herself  ill-used 


8o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

in  having  to  wear  tailor  gowns  all  the  year  round.  She  was  al- 
lowed cotton  frocks  for  very  warm  weather,  and  she  had  pretty 
gowns  for  the  evenings,  but  her  common  wear  was  cloth  or  lins'ey 
woolsey  made  by  the  local  tailor.  Sometimes  Maulevrier  or- 
dered her  a  gown  or  a  coat  from  his  own  man  in  Conduit  street, 
and  then  she  felt  herself  smart  and  fashionable.  And  even  the 
local  tailor  contrived  to  make  her  gowns  prettily,  having  a 
great  appreciation  of  her  straight  willowy  figure,  and  deeming  it 
a  privilege  to  work  for  her,  so  that  Mary  had  felt  very  well  con- 
tent with  her  cloth  attire.  But  now  that  John  Hammond  so  ob- 
viously admired  Lesbia's  delicate  raiment,  poor  Mary  began  to 
think  woollen-stuff  as  odious  as  poor  Mrs.  Oldfield  thought  it  for 
her  grave  clothes. 

After  breakfast  Mary  and  Maulevrier  went  straight  off  to  the 
kennels.  His  Lordship  had  numerous  instructions  to  give  on  this 
last  day,  and  his  lieutenant  had  to  receive  and  register  his  orders. 
Lesbia  went  to  the  garden  with  her  book  and  with  Fraulein — 
the  inevitable  Fraulein,  as  Hammond  thought  her — in  close  at- 
tendance. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  sultry,  summer-like,  albeit  Septem- 
ber had  just  begun.  The  tennis  lawn,  which  had  been  leveled 
on  one  side  of  the  house,  was  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  shrub- 
beries planted  forty  years  ago,  in  the  beginning  of  Lady  Mau- 
levrier's  widowhood.  All  loveliest  trees  grew  there  in  perfection, 
sheltered  by  the  mighty  wall  of  the  mountain,  fed  by  the  mists 
from  the  lake.  Larch  and  mountain  ash,  and  Lawsonian  Cy- 
prus— Deodara  and  magnolia,  arbutus  and  silver  broom,  acacia 
and  lilac,  flourished  and  throve  here  in  that  rich  beauty  which 
made  every  cottage  garden  in  the  happy  district  a  little  para- 
dise, and  here  in  a  semicircular  recess  at  one  end  of  the  lawn 
were  rustic  chairs  and  tables  and  an  umbrella  tent.  This  was 
Lady  Lesbia's  favorite  retreat  on  summer  mornings,  a  favorite 
place  for  afternoon  tea. 

Mr.  Hammond  followed  the  two  ladies  to  their  bower. 

"This  is  to  be  my  last  morning,"  he  said,  looking  at  Lesbia. 
"Will  you  think  me  a  great  bore  if  I  spend  it  with  you  ? " 

"  We  shall  think  it  very  nice  of  you,"  answered  Lesbia,  with- 
out a  vestige  of  emotion,  "  especially  if  you  will  read  to  us." 

"  I  will  do  anything  to  make  myself  useful.  What  shall  I 
read  ? " 

"  Anything  you  like.     What  do  you  say  to  Tennyson  ?  " 

"  That  he  is  a  noble  poet,  a  teacher  of  all  good  ;  but  too  phil- 
osophical for  my  present  mood.  May  I  read  you  some  of 
Heine's  ballads,  those  songs  which  you  sing  so  exquisitely,  or 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  8l 

rather  some  you  do  not  sing,  and  which  will  be  fresher  to  you. 
My  Germaii  is  far  from  perfect,  but  I  am  told  it  is  passable,  and 
Fraulein  Kirsch  can  throw  her  scissors  at  me  when  my  accent 
is  too  dreadful." 

"You  speak  German  beautifully,"  said  Fraulein.  "I  wonder 
where  you  learned  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  a  good  deal  in  Germany,  and  I  had  a  Hanove- 
rian valet  who  was  quite  a  gentleman,  and  spoke  admirably.  I 
think  I  learnt  more  from  him  than  from  grammars  or  diction- 
aries.    I'll  go  and  fetch  Heine." 

"  What  a  very  agreeable  person  Mr.  Hammond  is,"  said  Frau- 
lein, when  he  was  gone.     "  We  shall  quite  miss  him." 

"Yes,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  miss  him,"  said  Lesbia,  again 
without  the  faintest  emotion. 

The  governess  began  to  think  that  the  ordeal  of  an  agreeable 
young  man's  presence  at  Fellside  had  been  passed  in  safety,  and 
that  her  pupil  was  unscathed.  She  had  kept  a  close  watch  on  the 
two,  as  in  duty  bound.  She  knew  that  Hammond  was  m  love 
with  Lesbia,  but  she  thought  Lesbia  was  heart-whole. 

Mr.  Hammond  came  back  with  a  shabby  little  book  in  his 
hand,  and  established  himself  comfortably  in  one  of  the  low 
Beaconsfield  chairs. 

He  opened  his  book  at  that  group  of  short  poems  called 
Heimkehr,  and  read  here  and  there  as  fancy  led  him.  Some- 
times the  strain  was  a  love  song,  brief,  passionate  as  the  cry  of 
0.  soul  in  pain  ;  sometimes  the  verses  were  bitter  and  cynical ; 
sometimes  full  of  tenderest  sympathy,  telling  of  childhood,  and 
youth  and  purity ;  sometimes  dark  with  hidden  meanings, 
grim,  awful,  cold  with  the  chilling  breath  of  the  charnel  house ; 
sometimes  Lesbia's  heart  beat  a  little  faster  as  Mr.  Hammond 
read,  for  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  he  who  was  speaking  to  her,  and 
not  the  dead  poet. 

An  hour  or  more  passed  in  this  way,  Fraulein  Kirsch,  charmed 
at  hearing  some  of  her  favorite  verses,  asking  now  for  this  little 
bit,  and  anon  for  another,  and  expatiating  upon  the  merits  of 
German  poets  in  general  and  Heine  in  particular,  in  the  pauses 
of  the  lecture.  She  was  quite  carried  away  by  her  delight  in 
the  poet,  and  was  so  entirely  uplifted  to  the  ideal  world  that 
when  a  footman  came  with  a  message  from  Lady  Maulevrier  re- 
questing her  presence,  she  tripped  gayly  off  at  once  without  a 
thought  of  danger  in  leaving  those  two  together  on  the  lawn. 
She  had  been  a  faithful  watch-dog  up  to  this  point ;  but  she  was 
now  lulled  into  a  false  sense  of  security  by  the  idea  that  t''^e  time 
of  peril  was  all  but  ended. 


82  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

So  she  left  them ;  but  could  she  have  looked  back  two  min- 
utes afterwards  he  would  have  perceived  the  unwisdom  of  that 
act. 

No  sooner  had  the  Fraulein  turned  the  corner  of  the  shrub- 
bery than  Hammond  laid  aside  his  book  and  drew  nearer  Lesbia, 
who  sat  looking  downward,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  delicate  piece 
of  fancy  work  which  had  occupied  her  fingers  all  the  morning. 

"Lesbia,  this  is  my  last  day  at  Fellside,  and  you  and  I  may 
never  have  a  minute  alone  together  again  while  I  am  here. 
Will  you  come  for  a  little  walk  with  me  on  the  Fell  ?  There  is 
something  I  must  say  to  you  before  I  go." 

Lesbia's  delicate  cheek  grew  a  shade  more  pale.  Instinct  told 
her  what  was  coming,  though  never  mortal  man  had  spoken  to 
her  of  love.  Nor  until  now  had  Mi.  Hammond  ever  addressed 
her  by  her  Christian  name  without  the  ceremonious  prefix. 
There  was  a  deeper  tone  in  his  voice,  a  graver  look  in  his  eyes 
than  she  had  ever  noticed  before. 

She  rose  and  took  up  her  sunshade  and  went  with  him  meek- 
ly through  the  cultivated  shrubbery  of  ornamental  timber  to  the 
rougher  pathway  that  wound  through  a  copse  of  Scotch  fir, 
U'hich  formed  the  outer  boundary  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  domain. 
Beyond  the  fir  trees  rose  the  grassy  slope  of  the  hill,  on  the 
brow  of  which  sheep  were  feeding.  Deep  down  in  the  hollow 
below  the  lawns  and  shrubberies  of  Fellside  the  placid  bosom  of 
the  lake  shone  like  an  emerald  floor  in  the  sunlight,  reflecting  the 
verdure  of  the  hill  and  the  white  sheep  dotted  about  the 
slope. 

There  was  not  a  breath  in  the  air  around  them  as  those  two 
sauntered  slowly  side  by  side  in  the  pine  wood,  not  a  cloud  in 
the  dazzling  blue  sky  above  ;  and  for  a  little  time  they  too  were 
silent,  as  if  bound  by  a  spell  which  neither  dared  to  break. 
Then  at  last  Hammond  spoke. 

"Lesbia,  you  know  that  I  love  you,"  he  began,  in  his  low, 
grave  voice,  tremulous  with  feeling.  "  No  words  I  can  say  to- 
day can  tell  you  of  niy  love  more  plainly  than  my  heart  has  been 
telling  you  in  every  hour  of  this  happy,  happy  time  that  you  and 
I  have  spent  together.  I  love  you  as  I  never  hoped  to  love,  fer- 
vently, completely,  believing  that  the  perfection  of  earthly  bliss 
will  be  mine  if  I  can  but  win  you.  Dearest,  is  there  such  a 
sweet  hope  for  me  ;  are  you  indeed  my  own,  as  I  am  yours,  heart 
and  soul,  and  mind  and  being,  till  the  last  throb  of  life  in  this 
poor  clay  ?  " 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand,  but  she  drew  herself  away  from 
him  with  a  frightened  look.     She  was  very  pale,  and  there   waA 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  83 

infinite  distress  in  the  dark  violet  eyes,  which  looked  entreat- 
ingly,  deprecatingly  at  her  lover. 

"  1  dare  not  answer  as  you  would  like  me  to  answer,"  she  fal- 
tered, after  a  painful  pause.  "  I  am  not  my  own  mistress.  My 
grandmother  has  brought  me  up,  devoted  herself  to  me  almost, 
and  she  has  her  own  views,  her  own  plans.  I  dare  not  frustrate 
them." 

"  She  would  like  to  marry  you  to  a  man  of  rank  and  fortune, 
a  man  who  will  choose  you,  perhaps,  because  other  people  ad- 
mire you  rather  than  because  he  himself  loves  you  as  you  ought 
to  be  loved  ;  who  will  choose  you  because  you  are  altogether  the 
best  and  most  perfect  thing  of  your  year ;  just  as  he  would  buy 
a  yearling  at  Newmarket  or  F.psom.  Her  Ladyship  means  you 
to  make  a  great  alliance — coronets,  not  hearts,  are  the  counters 
for  her  game  ;  but,  Lesbia,  would  you,  in  the  bloom  and  fresh- 
ness of  youth — you,  with  the  pulses  of  youth  throbbing  at  your 
heart — lend  yourself  to  the  calculations  of  age  which  has  lived 
its  life  and  forgotten  the  very  meaning  of  love  ;  would  you  sub- 
mit to  be  played  as  a  card  in  the  game  of  a  dowager's  ambition  ? 
Trust  me,  dearest,  in  the  crisis  of  a  woman's  life  there  is  one 
only  counselor  she  should  listen  to,  and  that  counselor  is  her 
own  heart.  If  you  love  me — as  I  dare  to  hope  you  do — trust  in 
me,  hold  by  me,  and  leave  the  rest  to  heaven.  I  know  that  I 
can  make  your  life  happy." 

"  You  frighten  me  by  your  impetuosity,"  said  Lesbia.  "  Surely 
you  forget  how  short  a  time  we  have  known  each  other." 

"  An  age.  All  my  life  before  the  day  I  saw  you  is  a  dead,  dull 
blank,  as  compared  with  the  magical  hours  I  have  spent  with 
you." 

"  I  do  not  even  know  who  you  are." 

"  First,  I  am  a  gentleman,  or  I  should  not  be  your  brother's 
friend.  A  poor  gentleman,  if  you  like,  with  only  my  own  right 
arm  to  hew  my  pathway  through  the  wood  of  life  to  the  temple  of 
fortune ;  but  trust  me,  only  trust  me,  Lesbia,  and  I  will  so  hew 
my  path  as  to  reach  that  temple.  Look  at  me,  love.  Do  I  look 
like  a  man  born  to  fail  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  shyly,  with  her  soft  eyes  dim  with  tears. 
He  looked  like  a  demi-god,  tall,  straight  as  the  pine  trunks 
among  which  he  was  standing,  a  frame  formed  for  strength  and 
activity,  a  face  instinct  with  mental  power,  dark  eyes  that  glowed 
with  the  fires  of  intellect  and  passion.  The  sunlight  gave  an 
almost  unearthly  radiance  to  the  clear  darkness  of  his  complex- 
ion, the  curly  brown  hair  cut  close  to  the  finely  shaped  head,  the 
broad  brow,  and  boldly  modeled  features.     Lesbia  felt  in  her 


84  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

heart  that  such  a  man  must  be  destined  for  success,  born  to  be 
a  conqueror  in  all  strifes,  a  victor  upon  every  field. 

''  Have  I  the  thews  and  sinews  of  a  man  doomed  to  be  beaten 
in  the  battle  ?  "  he  asked  her.  "  No,  dearest,  Heaven  meant  me 
to  succeed,  and  with  you  to  fight  for  I  shall  not  be  bested  by 
adverse  fortune.     Can  you  not  trust  Providence  and  me.'*" 

"  I  cannot  disobey  my  grandmother.     If  she  will  consent — " 

"  She  will  not  consent.  You  must  defy  Lady  Maulevrier,  Les- 
bia,  if  you  mean  to  reward  my  love.  But  I  will  promise  you 
this,  darling,  that  if  you  will  be  my  wife — with  your  brother's 
consent — which  I  am  sure  of  before  I  ask  for  it,  within  a  month 
of  our  marriage  I  will  find  means  of  reconciling  her  Ladyship  to 
the  match  and  winning  her  entire  forgiveness  for  you  and 
me." 

"  You  are  talking  of  impossibilities,"  said  Lesbia,  frowning. 
"  Why  do  you  talk  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  child  .''  I  know  hardly 
anything  of  the  world,  but  I  do  know  the  woman  who  has  reared 
and  educated  me.  My  grandmother  would  never  forgive  me  if 
I  married  a  poor  man.     I  should  be  an  outcast." 

"  We  would  be  outcasts  together — happy  outcasts.  Besides, 
we  should  not  always  be  poor.  I  tell  you  I  am  predestined  to 
conquer  fate." 

"  But  we  should  have  to  begin  from  the  beginning." 

"  Yes,  we  should  have  to  begin  from  the  beginning,  as  Adam 
and  Eve  did  w^hen  they  left  Paradise." 

"  We  are  not  told  in  the  Bible  that  they  had  any  happiness 
after  that.  It  seems  to  have  been  all  trouble  and  weariness  and 
toil  and  death,  after  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword  drove  them 
out  of  Eden." 

"  They  were  together,  and  they  must  have  been  happy.  Oh, 
Lesbia,  if  you  do  not  feel  that  you  can  face  poverty  and  the 
world's  contempt  by  my  side,  and  for  my  sake,  you  do  not  love 
me.  Love  never  calculates  so  nicely  ;  love  never  fears  the  fut- 
ure. And  yet  you  do  love  me,  Lesbia,"  he  said,  trying  to  fold 
her  in  his  arms ;  but  again  she  drew  herself  away  from  him,  this 
time  with  a  look  almost  of  horror,  and  stood  facing  him,  cling- 
ing to  one  of  the  pine  trunks,  like  a  scared  wood-nymph. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  she  said. 

"  I  have — the  divine  right  of  my  own  deep  love — of  heart  which 
cries  out  to  heart.  Do  you  think  there  is  no  magnetic  power  in 
true  love  which  can  divine  the  answering  love  in  another?  Les- 
bia, call  me  an  insolent  coxcomb,  if  you  like,  but  I  know  you 
love  me,  and  that  you  and  I  may  be  utterly  happy  together.  Oh, 
why — why  do  you  shrink  from  me,  my  beloved  :  why   withhold 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  85 

yourself  from  my  arms.  Oh,  love,  let  me  hold  you  to  my  heart 
—let  me  seal  our  betrothal  with  a  kiss  !  " 

"  Betrothal ! — no,  no  ;  not  for  the  world,"  cried  Lesbia. 
"  Lady  Maulevrier  would  cast  me  off  forever ;  she  would  curse 
me." 

"  What  w^ould  the  curse  of  an  ambitious  w^oman  weigh  against 
my  love  ?  And  I  tell  you  that  her  anger  would  be  only  a  pass- 
ing tempest.     She  would  forgive  you." 

"  Never — you  don't  know  her." 

"  I  tell  you  she  would  forgive  you,  and  all  would  be  well  with 
us  before  we  had  been  married  a  year.  Why  cannot  yoU  believe 
me,  Lesbia  ? " 

"  Because  I  cannot  believe  impossibilities,  even  from  your 
lips,"  she  answered,  sullenly. 

She  stood  before  him  with  downcast  eyes,  the  tears  streaming 
down  her  pale  cheeks,  exquisitely  lovely  in  her  agitation  and 
sorrow.  Yes,  she  did  love  him ;  her  heart  was  beating  pas- 
sionately ;  she  was  longing  to  throw  herself  on  his  breast,  to  be 
folded  upon  that  manly  heart,  to  trust  in  that  brave  outlook 
w^hich  seemed  to  defy  fortune.  Yes,  he  was  a  man  born  to  con- 
quer— he  was  handsome,  intellectual,  powerful  in  all  mental  and 
physical  gifts.  A  man  of  men.  But  he  was  by  his  own  admis- 
sion a  very  obscure  and  insignificant  person,  and  he  had  no 
money.  Life  with  him  meant  a  long  fight  with  adverse  circum- 
stances ;  life  for  his  wife  must  mean  patience,  submission,  long 
waiting  upon  destiny,  and  perhaps  with  old  age  and  gray  hairs 
the  tardy  turning  of  Fortune's  wheel.  And  was  she  for  this  to 
resign  the  kingdom  that  had  been  promised  to  her,  the  giddy 
heights  which  she  was  born  to  scale,  the  triumphs  and  delights 
and  victories  of  the  great  world  ?  Yes,  Lesbia  loved  this  fort- 
uneless knight,  but  she  loved  herself  and  her  prospects  of  pro- 
motion still  better. 

"  Oh,  Lesbia,  can  you  not  be  brave  for  my  sake,  trustful  for 
my  sake  ?     God  will  be  good  to  us  if  we  are  true  to  each  other." 

"  God  will  not  be  good  to  me  if  I  disobey  my  grandmother. 
I  owe  her  too  much,  ingratitude  in  me  would  be  doubly  base. 
I  wall  speak  to  her.  I  will  tell  her  all  you  have  said,  and  if  she 
gives  me  the  faintest  encouragement — " 

"  She  will  not.  That  is  a  foregone  conclusion.  Tell  her  all, 
if  you  like,  but  let  us  be  prepared  for  the  answer.  And  when 
she  denies  the  right  of  your  heart  to  choose  its  own  mate, 
then  rise  up  in  the  might  of  your  womanhood  and  defy 
her.  Tell  her  '  I  love  him,  and  be  he  rich  or  poor,  I  will  share 
his  fate.'     Tell  her  boldly,  bravely,   nobly,  as   a  true  woman 


86  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

should,  and  if  she  be  adamant  still,  proclaim  your  right  to  diso- 
bey her  worldly  wisdom  rather  than  the  voice  of  your  own  heart. 
And  then  come  to  me,  darling,  and  be  my  own,  and  the  world 
which  you  and  I  will  face  together  shall  not  be  a  bad  world.  I 
will  answer  for  that.  No  trouble  shall  come  near  you.  No  hu- 
miliation shall  ever  touch  you.     Only  believe  in  me/' 

"  I  can  believe  in  you,  but  not  in  the  impossible,"  answered 
Lesbia,  wdth  measured  accents. 

The  voice  was  silver  sweet  but  passing  cold.  Just  then  there 
w^as  a  rustling  among  the  pine  branches,  and  Lesbia  looked 
round  with  a  startled  air. 

"  Is  there  any  one  listening  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  What  was 
that?" 

"  Only  the  breath  of  heaven.  Oh,  Lesbia,  if  you  were  but  a 
little  less  wise,  a  little  more  trustful.  Do  not  be  a  dumb  idol. 
Say  that  you  love  me,  or  do  not  love  me.  If  you  can  look  me 
in  the  face,  and  say  the  last,  I  will  leave  you  without  another 
word.     I  will  take  my  sentence  and  go." 

But  this  was  just  what  Lesbia  could  not  do.  She  could  not 
deny  her  love,  and  yet  she  could  not  sacrifice  all  things  for  her 
love.  She  lifted  the  heavy  lids  which  veiled  those  lovely  eyes, 
and  looked  up  at  him  imploringly. 

"  Give  me  time  to  breathe,  time  to  think,"  she  said. 

"  And  then  will  you  answer  me  plainly,  truthfully,  without  a 
shadow  of  reserve,  remembering  that  the  fate  of  two  lives  hangs 
on  you  and  vour  words  t  " 

"I  will."  ' 

"  Let  it  be  so,  then.  I'll  go  for  a  ramble  over  the  hills,  and 
return  in  time  for  afternoon  tea.  I  shall  look  for  you  on  the 
tennis-lawn  at  half-past  four." 

He  took  her  hand,  which  this  time  she  yielded  to  him,  kissed 
it  fervently,  and  in  the  next  moment  was  gone^  leaving  her  alone 
among  the  pine  trees. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  THEN  FLASHED  THE  LIVING  LIGHTNING  FROM  HER  EYES." 

Lady  Maulevrier  rarely  appeared  at  luncheon  ;  she  took 
some  light  refection  in  her  morning  room,  among  her  books  and 
papers,  and  in  the  society  of  her  canine  favorites,  whose  com- 
pany suited  her  better  at  certain  hours  than  the  noisier  compan- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  87 

ionship  of  her  grandchildren.  She  was  a  studious  woman,  lov- 
ing the  silent  life  of  books  better  than  the  inane  chatter  of  every- 
day humanity.  She  was  a  v/oman  who  thought  much,  and  read 
much,  and  who  lived  more  in  the  past  than  the  present.  She 
lived  also  in  the  future,  counting  much  upon  the  splendid  career 
of  her  beautiful  granddaughter,  which  should  be  in  a  manner  a 
lengthening  out,  a  renewal  of  her  own  life.  She  looked  forward 
to  the  day  when  Lesbia  should  reign  supreme  in  the  great  world, 
a  famous  beauty  and  leader  of  fashion,  her  every  act  and  word 
inspired,  directed  by  her  grandmother,  who  w^ould  be  the  shadow 
behind  the  throne.  It  was  possible — nay,  probable — that  in 
those  days  Lady  Maulevrier  would  herself  reappear  in  society, 
establish  her  salon,  and  draw  around  her  closing  years  all  that 
is  wittiest,  best  and  wisest  in  the  world  of  fashion. 

Her  Ladyship  was  reposing  in  her  low  reading  chair,  with  a 
volume  of  Tyndall  on  the  book-stand  before  her,  when  the  door 
was  opened  softly  and  Lesbia  came  gliding  in,  and  seated  her- 
self without  a  word  on  the  hassock  at  her  grandmother's  feet. 
Lady  Maulevrier  passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  the  girl's 
pretty  hair,  without  looking  up  from  her  book. 

*'  You  are  a  late  visitor,"  she  said  ;  "  why  did  you  not  come 
to  me  after  breakfast  ? " 

"  It  was  such  a  lovely  morning,  we  went  straight  from  the 
breakfast  table  to  the  garden.     I  did  not  think  you  wanted  me." 

"  I  did  not  want  you,  but  I  am  always  glad  to  see  my  pet. 
What  were  you  doing  in  the  garden  all  the  morning  ?  I  did  not 
hear  the  tennis  balls." 

Lady  Maulevrier  had  already  interrogated  the  German  govern- 
ess upon  this  very  subject ;  but  she  had  her  own  reasons  for 
wishing  to  hear  Lesbia's  account. 

"  No,  it  was  too  warm  for  tennis.  Fraulein  and  I  sat  and 
worked  and  Mr.  Hammond  read  to  us." 

"  What  did  he  read  ?  " 

"  Heine's  ballads.     He  reads  German  beautifully." 

"  Indeed.  I  dare  say  he  was  at  school  in  Germany.  There 
are  cheap  schools  there  to  which  middle-class  people  send  their 
boys." 

This  was  like  a  thrust  trom  a  rusty  knife. 

"  Mr.  Hammond  was  at  Oxford,"  Lesbia  said,  reproachfully; 
and  then,  after  a  longish  pause,  she  clasped  her  hands  upon 
the  arm  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  chair  and  said,  in  a  pleading 
voice  :  "  Grandmamma,  Mr.  Hammond  has  asked  me  to  marry 
him." 

"  Indeed  !     Only  that  ?     And  pray,  did  he  tell  you  what  are 


88  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

his  means  of  maintaining  Lord  Maulevrier's  sister  in  the  posi- 
tion to  which  her  birth  entitles  her  ?  "  inquired  the  Dowager, 
with  crushing  calmness. 

"  He  is  not  rich  ;  indeed,  I  believe,  he  is  poor  ;  but  he  is 
brave  and  clever,  and  he  is  full  of  confidence  to  conquer  fort- 
une." 

"  No  doubt ;  that  is  your  true  adventurer's  style.  He  con- 
fides implicitly  in  his  own  talents,  and  in  somebody  else's  bank- 
er. Mr.  Hammond  would  make  a  tremendous  figure  in  the 
world,  I  dare  say  ;  and  while  he  was  making  it  your  brother 
would  have  to  keep  him.  Well,  my  dear  Lesbia,  I  hope  you 
gave  this  gentleman  the  answer  his  insolence  deserved  ;  or  that 
you  did  better,  and  referred  him  to  me.  I  should  be  glad  to 
give  him  my  opinion  of  his  conduct — a  person  admitted  to  this 
house  as  your  brother's  hanger-on — tolerated  only  on  your 
brother's  account ;  such  a  person — nameless,  penniless,  friend- 
less (except  for  Maulevrier's  easy-tempered  patronage),  to  dare 
to  lift  his  eyes  to  my  granddaughter — it  is  most  ineffable  inso- 
lence !  " 

Lesbia  crouched  by  her  grandmother's  chair,  her  face  hidden 
from  Lady  Maulevrier's  falcon  eye.  Every  word  uttered  by 
her  Ladyship  stung  like  the  knotted  cords  of  a  knout.  She 
knew  not  whether  to  be  most  ashamed  of  her  lover  or  of  herself 
— of  her  lover  for  his  obscure  position,  his  hopeless  poverty,  of 
herself  for  her  folly  in  loving  such  a  man.  And  she  did  love 
him,  and  would  fain  have  pleaded  his  cause,  had  she  not  been 
cowed  and  crushed  by  the  authority  that  had  ruled  her  all  her 
life. 

"  Lesbia,  if  I  thought  you  had  been  silly  enough,  degraded 
enough,  to  give  this  young  man  encouragement,  to  have  justi- 
fied his  audacity  of  to-day  by  any  act  or  word  of  yours,  I  should 
despise,  I  should  detest  you.  What  could  be  more  contemptible, 
more  hateful  in  a  girl  reared  as  you  have  been  than  to  give  en- 
couragement to  the  first  comer — to  listen  greedily  to  the  first 
adventurer  who  has  the  insolence  to  make  love  to  you,  to  be  eager 
to  throw  yourself  into  the  arms  of  the  first  man  who  asks  you  ? 
That  my  granddaughter,  a  girl  reared  and  taught  and  watched 
and  guarded  by  me,  should  have  no  more  dignity,  no  more 
naodesty,  or  womanly  feeling,  than  a  barmaid  at  an  inn." 

Lesbia  began  to  cry. 

"  I  don't  see  why  a  barmaid  should  not  be  a  good  woman,  or 
why  it  should  be  a  crime  to  fall  in  love,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
broken  by  sobs.  "  You  need  not  speak  to  me  so  unkindly.  1 
am  not  going  to  marry  Mr.  Hammond." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  89 

"  Oh,  you  are  not ;  that  is  very  good  of  you.  I  am  deeply 
grateful  for  such  an  assurance." 

"  But  I  like  him  better  than  any  one  I  ever  saw  in  my  life  be- 
fore." 

"  You  have  seen  so  many  people.  You  have  had  such  a  wide 
area  for  choice." 

"  No  ;  I  know  I  have  been  kept  like  a  nun  in  a  convent, 
but  I  don't  think  when  I  go  into  the  world  I  shall  ever  see  any 
one  I  should  like  better  that  Mr.  Hammond." 

"  Wait  till  you  have  seen  the  world  before  you  make  up  your 
mind  about  that,  and  now,  Lesbia,  leave  off  talking  and  thinking 
like  a  child.  Look  me  in  the  face  and  listen  to  me,  for  I  am 
going  to  speak  seriously  ;  and  with  me,  when  I  am  in  earnest, 
what  is  said  once  is  said  forever." 

Lady  Maulevrier  grasped  her  granddaughter's  arm  with  long, 
slender  fingers,  which  held  it  as  tightly  as  the  grasp  of  a  vise. 
She  drew  the  girl's  slim  figure  round  till  they  were  face  to  face, 
looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  the  dowager's  eagle  coun4;enance 
lit  up  with  impassioned  feeling,  severe,  awful  as  the  face  of  one 
of  the  fatal  sisters,  the  avengers  of  blood,  the  harbingers  of 
doom. 

"  Lesbia,  I  think  I  have  been  good  to  you,  and  kind  to  you," 
she  said. 

"  You  have  been  all  that  is  kind  and  dear,"  faltered  Les- 
bia. 

"Then  give  me  measure  for  measure.  My  life  has  been  a 
hard  one,  child ;  hard  and  lonely,  and  loveless  and  joyless. 
My  son,  to  whom  I  devoted  myself  in  the  vigor  of  youth  and  in 
the  prime  of  life,  never  loved  me,  never  repaid  me  for  my  love. 
He  spent  his  days  far  away  from  me  when  his  presence  would 
have  gladdened  my  difficult  life.  He  died  in  a  strange  land. 
Of  his  three  children  you  are  the  one  I  took  into  my  heart.  I 
did  my  duty  to  the  others,  I  lavished  my  love  upon  you.  Do  not 
give  me  cursing  instead  of  blessing.  Do  not  give  me  a  stone 
instead  of  bread.  I  have  built  every  hope  of  happiness  or 
pleasure  in  this  world  upon  you  and  your  obedience.  Obey  me, 
be  true  to  me,  and  I  will  make  you  a  queen,  and  I  will  sit  in  the 
shadow  of  the  throne,  I  will  toil  for  you  and  be  wise  for  you. 
You  shall  have  only  to  shine  and  dazzle  and  envy  the  giory  of 
life.  My  beautiful  darling,  for  pity's  sake  do  not  give  yourself 
over  to  folly." 

"  Did  you  not  marry  for  love,  grandmother  ?  " 

*'  No,  Lesbia.  Lord  Maulevrier  and  I  got  on  very  well  to 
gether,  but  ours  was  no  love  match." 


90  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  Does  nobody  in  your  rank  ever  marry  for  love  ?  are  all 
marriages  a  mere  exchange  and  barter  ?  " 

"  No,  there  are  love-matches  now  and  then,  which  often  turn 
out  badly.  But,  my  darling,  I  am  not  asking  you  to  marry  for 
rank  or  for  money.  I  am  only  asking  you  to  wait  till  you  find 
your  mate  among  the  noblest  in  the  land.  He  may  be  the 
handsomest  and  most  accomplished  of  men,  a  man  born  to  win 
women's  hearts,  and  you  may  love  him  as  fervently  as  ever  a 
village  girl  loved  her  first  lover.  I  am  not  going  to  sacrifice 
you  or  to  barter  you,  dearest.  I  mean  to  marry  you  to  the  best 
and  noblest  young  man  of  his  day;  You  shall  never  be  asked 
to  stoop  to  the  unworthy,  not  even  if  worthlessness  wore  straw- 
berry leaves  in  his  cap  and  owned  the  greatest  estate  in  the  land." 

"  And  if — instead  of  waiting  for  this  King  Arthur  of  yours — 
if  I  were  to  do  as  Iseult  did — as  Guinevere  did — choose  for  my- 
self—" 

"  Iseult  and  Guinevere  were  wantons.  I  wonder  that  you  can 
name  them  as  examples  among  women." 

"  If  I  were  to  marry  a  good  and  honorable  man  who  has  his 
place  to  make  in  the  world,  would  you  never  forgive  me  t " 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Hammond.  You  may  just  as  well  speak 
plainly,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  freezingly.  "  If  you  were  ca- 
pable of  such  idiocy  as  that,  Lesbia,  I  would  pluck  you  out  of 
my  heart  like  a  foul  weed.  I  would  never  look  upon  you,  or 
hear  your  name  spoken,  or  think  of  you  again  as  long  as  I  lived. 
My  life  w^ould  not  last  very  long  after  that  blow.  Old  age  can- 
not bear  such  shocks.  Oh,  Lesbia,  I  have  been  father  and 
mother  to  you;  do  not  bring  my  gray  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the 
grave." 

Lesbia  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
Yes,  the  ver}^  idea  of  such  a  marriage  was  foolishness.  Just 
now,  in  the  pine  wood,  carried  away  by  the  force  of  her  lover's 
passion,  by  her  own  softer  feelings,  it  had  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she  could  count  the  world  well  lost  for  his  sake  ;  but  now,  at 
Lady  Maulevrier's  feet,  she  became  again  true  to  her  training, 
and  the  world  was  too  much  to  lose. 

"  What  can  I  do,  grandmamma  ?  "  she  asked,  submissively, 
despairingly.  "  He  loves  me  and  I  love  him.  How  can  I  tell 
him  that  he  and  I  can  never  be  anvthing  to  each  other  in  this 
world  ? " 

"  Refer  him  to  me  and  I  will  give  him  his  answer." 

"  No,  no,  that  will  not  do.  I  have  promised  to  answer  him 
myself.  He  has  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  woods,  and  will  come 
back  at  half-past  four  for  my  answer." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  91 

"  Sit  down  at  that  table  and  write  as  I  dictate." 

"  But  a  letter  will  be  so  formal." 

"  It  is  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  answer  him.  When  he 
comes  back  from  his  walk  you  will  have  left  Fellside.  I  shall 
send  you  off  to  St.  Bees  with  Fraulein.  You  must  never  look 
upon  that  man's  face  again." 

Lesbia  brushed  away  a  few  more  tears,  and  obeyed.  She  had 
been  too  well  trained  to  attempt  resistance.  Defiance  was  out 
of  the  question. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
"the  greater  cantle  of  the  world  is  lost." 

The  sky  was  still  cloudless  when  John  Hammond  strolled 
slowly  up  the  leafy  avenue  at  Fellside.  He  had  been  across 
the  valley  and  up  the  hill  to  Easedale  tarn,  and  then,  by  rough 
untrodden  ways,  across  a  chaos  of  rock  and  heather  into  a  sec- 
ond valley,  long,  narrow  and  sterile,  known  as  Far  Easedale,  a 
desolate  gorge,  a  rugged  cleft  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains. 
The  walk  had  been  long  and  laborious,  but  only  in  such  clamb- 
ering and  toiling,  such  expenditure  of  muscular  force  and  latent 
heat,  could  the  man's  restless  soul  endure  these  long  hours  of 
suspense. 

"  How  will  she  answer  me  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  how  will  she  an- 
swer me  .?  "  he  said  within  himself,  as  he  walked  up  the  romantic 
winding  road,  which  made  so  picturesque  an  approach  to  Lady 
Maulevrier's  lovely  domam.  "  Is  my  idol  gold  or  clay  ?  How 
will  she  come  through  the  crucible?  Oh,  dearest,  sweetest, 
loveliest,  only  be  tru'e  to  the  instinct  of  your  womanhood  and 
my  cup  will  be  full  of  bliss,  and  all  my  days  will  flow  as  sweetly 
as'  a  burden  of  a  song.  But  if  you  prove  heartless,  if  you  love 
the  world's  wealth  better  than  you  love  me — ah  !  then  all  is 
over,  and  you  and  I  are  lost  to  each  other  forever.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind." 

His  face  settled  into  an  expression  of  indomitable  determina- 
tion, as  of  a  man  who  would  die  rather  than  be  false  to  his  own 
purpose.  There  was  no  glow  of  hope  in  his  heart.  He  had  no 
deep  faith  in  the  girl  he  loved  ;  indeed,  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
he  knew  that  this  being  to  whom  he  had  given  his  hopes  of  bliss 
was  no  heroine.  She  was  a  lovely,  lovable  girl,  nothing  more. 
Flow  would  she  greet  him  when  they  met  presently  on  the  ten- 
nis  lawn  ?     With   tears  and  entreaties,  and  pretty  little  depre- 


92  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

eating    speeches,    irresolution,    timidity,   vacillation,    perhaps ; 
hardly  with  heroic  resolve  to  act  and  dare  for  his  sake. 

There  was  no  one  on  the  tennis  lawn  when  he  went  there, 
though  the  hour  was  close  at  hand  at  which  Lesbia  had  prom- 
ised to  give  him  his  answer.  He  sat  down  in  one  of  the  low 
chairs,  glad  to  rest  after  his  long  ramble,  having  had  no  refresh- 
ment but  a  bottle  of  soda  water  and  a  biscuit  at  the  cottage  by 
Easedale  tarn.  He  waited,  calmly  as  to  outward  seeming,  but 
with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  If  it  were  Mary,  now,  whom  I  loved  I  should  have  little  fear 
of  the  issue,"  he  thought,  weighing  his  sweetheart's  character 
as  he  weighed  his  chances  of  success.  "  That  young  termagant 
would  defy  the  world  for  her  lover." 

"  He  sat  in  the  summer  silence  for  nearly  half  an  hour,  and 
still  there  was  no  sign  of  Lady  Lesbia.  Her  satin-lined  work- 
basket,  with  the  work  thrown  carelessly  across  it,  was  still  on 
the  rustic  table,  just  as  she  had  left  it  when  they  went  to  the 
pine  wood.  Waiting  was  weary  work  when  the  bliss  of  a  life- 
time trembled  in  the  balance  ;  and  yet  he  did  not  want  to  be 
impatient.  She  might  find  it  difficult  to  get  away  from  her  fam- 
ily, perhaps.  She  was  closely  watched  and  guarded,  as  the  most 
precious  thing  at  Fellside. 

At  last  the  clock  struck  five,  and  Hammond  could  endure 
delay  no  longer.  He  went  round  by  the  flower  garden  to  the 
terrace  before  the  drawing-room  window,  and  through  an  open 
window  to  the  drawing-room. 

Lady  Maulevrier  was  in  her  accustomed  seat,  her  own  partic- 
ular little  table,  her  magazines,  books,  newspapers  at  her  side. 
Lady  Mary  was  pouring  out  the  tea,  a  most  unusual  thing,  and 
Maulevrier  was  sitting  on  a  stool  at  her  feet,  with  his  arms  up 
to  his  chin,  very  warm  and  dusty,  drinking  tea. 

"  Where  the  mischief  have  you  been  hiding  yourself  all  day, 
Jack  ?  "  he  called  out  as  Hammond  appeared,  looking  round 
the  room  as  he  entered  with  eager,  interrogating  eyes  for  that 
one  figure  which  was  absent. 

"  I've  been  for  a  walk." 

"  You  might  have  had  the  civility  to  announce  your  design, 
and  Molly  and  I  would  have  shared  your  peregrinations." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  lost  the  privilege  of  your  company." 

"  I  suppose  that  you  lost  your  luncheon,  which  was  of  more 
importance  ?  "  said  Maulevrier. 

"  Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  "  asked  Mary,  who  looked  more 
womanly  than  usual  in  a  cream-colored  surah  gown — one  of  her 
Sunday  gowns. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  93 

She  had  a  faint  hope  that  by  this  essentially  feminine  apparel 
she  might  lessen  the  prejudicial  effect  of  Maulevrier's  cruel 
story  about  the  fox-hunt. 

Mr.  Hammond  answered  absently,  hardly  looking  at  Mary, 
and  quite  unconscious  of  her  pretty  gown. 

"  Thanks,  yes,"  he  said,  taking  the  cup  and  saucer,  and  look- 
ing at  the  door  by  which  he  momentarily  expected  Lady  Lesbia's 
entrance,  and  then,  as  the  door  did  not  open,  he  looked  down 
at  Mary,  very  busy  with  China  tea-pots  and  a  brass  kettle  w^iich 
hissed  and  throbbed  over  a  spirit  lamp. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  cake  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  at  him 
gently,  grieved  at  the  distress  and  disappointment  in  his  face. 
"  I  am  sure  you  must  be  dreadfully  hungr}^" 

"  Not  in  the  least,  thanks.  How  came  you  to  be  intrusted 
with  those  sacred  vessels,  Lady  Mary .''  What  has  become  of 
Fraulein  and  your  sister  .''  " 

*'  They  have  rushed  off  to  St.  Bees.  Grandmamma  thought 
Lesbia  looking  pale  and  out  of  spirits,  and  packed  her  off  to 
the  sea-side  at  a  minute's  notice." 

*'  What !  She  has  left  Fellside  ?  "  asked  Hammond,  paling 
suddenly,  as  if  a  man  had  struck  him.  "  Lady  Maulevrier,  do 
I  understand  that  Lady  Lesbia  has  gone  away  t  " 

He  asked  the  question  in  an  authoritative  tone,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  had  a  right  to  be  answered.  The  dowager  won- 
dered at  his  surprising  insolence. 

"  My  granddaughter  has  gone  to  the  sea-side  with  her  gov- 
erness," she  said,  haughtily. 

*'  At  a  moment's  notice  ?  " 

"  At  a  moment's  notice.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  hesitating 
about  any  step  which  I  consider  necessary." 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face  with  those  falcon  eyes  of  hers  ; 
and  he  gave  her  back  a  look  as  resolute,  and  every  whit  as  full 
of  courage  and  of  pride. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  very  perceptible  pause,  "  no  doubt 
your  Ladyship  has  done  wisely,  and  I  must  submit  to  your 
jurisdiction.  But  I  had  asked  Lady  Lesbia  a  question,  and  I 
had  been  promised  an  answer." 

"  Your  question  has  been  answered  by  Lady  Lesbia.  She 
left  a  note  for  you,"  replied  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"Thanks,"  answered  Mr.  Hammond,  briefly,  and  he  hurried 
from  the  room  without  another  word. 

The  letter  was  on  the  table  in  his  bed-room.  He  had  little 
hope  of  any  good  waiting  for  him   in  a  letter  so  written.     The 


94  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Dowager  and  the  world  had  triumphed  over  a  girl's  dawning 
love,  no  doubt. 

This  was  Lesbia's  letter  : 

"  Dear  Mr.  Hammond — Lady  Maulevrier  desires  me  to  say 
that  the  proposal  which  you  honored  me  by  making  this  morn- 
ing is  one  which  I  cannot  possibly  accept,  and  that  any  idea  of 
an  engagement  between  you  and  me  could  result  only  in  misery 
and  humiliation  to  both.  She  thinks  it  best,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, that  we  should  not  again  meet,  and  I  shall,  there- 
fore, have  left  Fellside  before  you  receive  this  letter. 

*'  With  all  good  wishes,  very  faithfully  yours, 

"Lesbia  Haselden." 

"  Very  faithfully  mine — faithful  to  her  false  training,  to  the 
worldly  mind  that  rules  her ;  faithful  to  the  gods  of  this  world 
— Belial  and  mammon,  and  the  Moloch  Fashion.  Poor  cow- 
ardly soul !  She  loves  me,  and  owns  as  much,  yet  weakly  flies 
from  me,  afraid  to  trust  the  strong  arm  and  the  brave  heart  of 
the  man  who  loves  her,  preferring  the  glittering  shams  of  the 
world  to  the  reality  of  true  and  honest  love.  Well,  child,  I 
have  weighed  you  in  the  balance  and  found  you  wanting. 
Would  to  God  it  had  been  otherwise  !  If  you  had  been  brave 
and  bold  for  love's  sake,  where  is  that  pure  and  perfect  chryso- 
lite for  which  I  would  have  bartered  you  ?  " 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  sat  with  his  head  bowed 
upon  his  folded  arms,  and  his  eyes  not  innocent  of  tears. 
What  would  he  not  have  given  to  find  truth  and  courage  and 
scorn  of  the  world's  wealth  in  that  heart  which  he  had  tried  to 
win.  Did  he  think  her  altogether  heartless  because  she  re- 
nounced him  ?  No,  he  was  too  just  for  that.  He  called  her 
only  half-hearted.  She  was  like  the  cat  in  the  adage,  "  Letting 
I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would."  But  he  told  himself  with  one 
deep  sigh  of  resignation  that  she  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

"  I  have  tried  her  and  found  her  not  worth  the  winning,"  he 
said. 

The  house,  even  the  lovely  landscape  smiling  under  his  win- 
dow, the  pastoral  valley,  smooth  lake  and  willowy  island,  seemed 
hateful  to  him.  He  felt  himself  hemmed  round  by  those  green 
hills,  by  yonder  brown  and  rugged  wall  of  Nabb  Scar,  stifled 
for  want  of  breathing  space.  The  landscape  was  lovely  enough, 
but  it  was  like  a  beautiful  grave.     He  longed  to  get  away  from  it. 

"  Another  man  would  follow  her  to  St.  Bees,"  he  said.  "  I  will 
not." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  95 

He  flung  a  few  things  into  a  Gladstone  bag,  sat  down,  and 
wrote  a  brief  note  to  Maiilevrier,  asking  him  to  make  his  excuses 
to  her  Ladyship.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go  to  Keswick 
that  afternoon,  and  would  rejoin  his  friend  to-morrow,  at  Car- 
lisle. This  done  he  rang  for  Maulevrier's  valet,  and  asked  that 
person  to  look  after  his  luggage  and  bring  it  on  to  Scotland 
with  his  master's  things;  and  then,  without  a  word  of  adieu  to 
any  one,  Mr.  Hammond  went  out  of  the  house  with  his  Glad- 
stone bag  in  his  hand,  and  shook  the  dust  of  Fellside  off  his 
feet. 

He  ordered  a  fly  at  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Hotel,  and  drove  to 
Keswick,  where  he  went  on  to  the  Lodore.  The  gloom  and 
spaciousness  of  Derwentwater,  gray  in  the  gathering  dusk,  suited 
his  humor  better  than  the  emerald  prettiness  of  Grasmere — 
the  roar  of  the  waterfall  made  music  in  his  ear.  He  dined  in  a 
private  room,  and  spent  the  evening  roaming  on  the  shore  of  the 
lake,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  went  back  to  his  hotel  and  sat  late 
into  the  night  reading  Heine,  and  thinking  of  the  girl  he  had 
wooed  and  failed  to  win. 

Mr.  Hammond's  letter  was  delivered  to  Lord  Maulevrier  five 
minutes  before  dinner,  as  he  sat  in  the  drawing-room  with  her 
Ladyship  and  Mary.  Poor  Maiy  had  put  on  another  pretty  govv^n 
for  dinner,  still  bent  upon  effacing  Mr.  Hammond's  image  of 
her  as  a  tousled,  frantic  creature  in  torn  and  muddy  raiment. 
She  sat  watching  the  door,  just  as  Mr.  Hammond  had  watched 
it  three  hours  ago. 

"  So,"  said  Maulevrier,  "  your  Ladyship  has  succeeded  in  driv- 
ing my  friend  away.  Mr.  Hammond  has  left  Fellside,  and  begs 
me  to  convey  to  you  his  compliments  and  his  grateful  acknowl- 
edgment of  all  your  kindness." 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  been  uncivil  to  him,"  answered  Lady 
Maulevrier,  coldly.  "  As  you  had  both  made  up  your  minds  to 
go  to-morrow,  it  can  matter  very  little  that  he  should  go  to-day." 

Mary  looked  down  at  the  ribbon  and  lace  on  her  prettiest 
frock,  and  thought  that  it  mattered  a  great  deal  to  her.  Yet,  if 
he  had  stayed,  would  he  have  seen  her  frock  or  her  ?  With  his 
bodily  eyes  perhaps,  but  not  with  the  eyes  of  his  mind.  Those 
eyes  saw  only  Lesbia. 

"  No,  perhaps  it  hardly  matters,"  answered  Maulevrier,  with 
suppressed  anger.  "  The  man  is  not  worth  talking  about  or 
thinking  about.  What  is  he  ?  Only  the  best,  truest,  bravest  fel- 
low I  ever  knew." 

"  There  are  shepherds  and  guides  in  Grasmere  of  whom  we 
could  say  almost    as   much,"  said    Lady  Maulevrier,  "yet    you 


96  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

would  scarcely  expect  me  to  encourage  one  of  them  to  pay  his 
addresses  to  your  sister !  Pray  spare  us  all  nonsensical  talk, 
Maulevrier.  This  business  is  very  well  ended.  You  ought 
never  to  have  brought  Mr.  Hammond  hi;re. 

"  I  am  sure  of  that  now.     I  am  very  sorry  I  did  bring  him." 

"  Oh,  the  man  will  not  die  for  love.  A  disappointment  of  that 
kind  is  good  for  a  young  man  in  his  position.  It  will  preserve 
him  from  more  vulgar  entanglements,  and  perhaps  from  the 
folly  of  a  too  early  marriage." 

"  That  is  a  mighty  philosophical  way  of  looking  at  the  mat- 
ter." 

"  It  is  the  only  true  way.  I  hope  when  you  are  my  age  you 
will  have  learnt  to  look  at  everything  in  a  philosophical  spirit." 

"  Well,  Lady  Maulevrier,  you  have  had  it  all  your  own  way," 
said  the  young  man,  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  ardent 
impatience.  "  I  hope  you  will  never  be  sorry  for  having  come 
between  two  people  who  loved  each  other  and  might  have  made 
each  other  happy." 

''  I  shall  never  be  sorry  for  having  saved  my  granddaughter 
from  an  imprudent  marriage.  Give  me  your  arm,  Maulevrier, 
and  let  me  hear  no  more  about  Mr.  Hammond.  We  have  all 
had  quite  enough  of  him,"  said  her  Ladyship,  as  the  butler  an- 
nounced dinner. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 


Fraulein  Kirsch  and  her  charge  returned  from  St.  Bees  after 
a  sojourn  of  about  three  weeks  upon  that  quiet  shore,  but  Lady 
Lesbia  did  not  appear  to  be  improved  in  health  or  spirits  by  the 
revivifying  breezes  of  the  ocean. 

"  It  is  a  dull,  horrid  place,  and  I  was  bored  to  death  there  !  " 
she  said,  when  Mary  asked  how  she  had  enjoyed  herself. 
"  There  was  no  question  of  enjoyment.  Grandmamma  took  it 
mto  her  head  that  I  was  looking  ill,  and  sent  me  to  the  sea,  but 
I  should  have  been  just  as  well  at  Fellside." 

This  meant  that  between  Lesbia  and  that  distinctly  inferior 
being,  her  younger  sister,  there  was  to  be  no  confidence.  Mary 
had  watched  the  life-drama  acted  under  her  eyes  too  closely  not 
to  know  all  about  it,  and  was  not  inclined  to  be  so  put  off. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  97 

That  pale,  perturbed  countenance  of  John  Hammond's,  those 
eager  inquiring  eyes  looking  to  the  door  which  opened  not,  had 
haunted  Mary's  waking  thoughts,  had  even  mingled  with  the 
tangled  web  of  her  dreams.  Oh,  how  could  a  woman  scorn  such 
love  ?  To  be  so  loved,  and  by  such  a  man,  seemed  to  Mary  the 
perfection  of  earthly  bliss.  She  had  never  been  educated  up  to 
those  wider  and  loftier  views  of  life  which  teach  a  woman  that 
houses  and  lands,  place  and  power,  are  the  supreme  good. 

"  I  can't  understand  how  you  could  treat  that  good,  noble- 
minded  man  so  badly,"  she  exclaimed  one  day,  when  she  and 
Lesbia  were  alone  in  the  library,  and  after  she  had  sat  for  ever 
so  long,  staring  out  of  the  window,  meditating  upon  her  sister's 
cruelty. 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  pray  1 " 

"  As  if  you  didn't  know  !     Of  Mr.  Hammond." 

"  And  pray,  how  do  you  know  he  is  noble-minded,  or  that  I 
treated  him  badly  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  to  his  being  noble-minded,  that  jumps  to  the  eyes, 
as  French  books  say.  As  for  your  treatment  of  him,  I  was  look- 
ing on  all  the  time,  and  I  know  how  unkind  you  were,  and  I 
heard  him  talking  to  you  in  the  fir  copse  that  day." 

'•  You  were  listening,"  cried  Lesbia,  indignantly. 

"I  was  not  listening!  I  was  passing  by.  And  if  people 
choose  to  carry  on  their  love  affairs  out  of  doors  they  must  ex- 
pect to  be  overheard.  I  heard  him  pleading  to  you,  telling  you 
how  he  would  work  for  you,  fight  the  battle  of  life  for  you,  ask- 
ing you  to  be  trustful  and  brave  for  his  sake.  But  you  have  a 
heart  of  stone.  You  and  grandmamma  both  have  hearts  of  stone. 
I  think  she  must  have  taken  out  your  heart  when  you  were  little, 
and  put  a  stone  in  its  place." 

"  Really,"  said  Lesbia,  trying  to  carry  things  with  a  high 
hand,  albeit  her  very  human  heart  was  beating  passionately  all 
the  time,  "  I  think  you  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  me — and 
grandmamma — for  refusing  Mr.  Hammond." 

"  Why  grateful  ?  " 

''Because  it  leaves  you  a  chance  of  getting  him  for  yourself; 
and  everybody  can  see  you  are  desperately  in  love  with  him. 
That  jumps  to  the  eyes,  as  you  say." 

Mary  turned  crimson,  trembled  with  rage,  looked  at  her  sis- 
ter as  if  she  would  kill  her,  for  a  moment  or  so,  and  finally 
burst  into  tears. 

"  That  is  not  true,  and  it  is  shameful  for  you  to  say  such  a 
thing,"  she  cried. 

"  Why,  what  a  virago  you  are^  Mary.     Well,  I'm  very  glad  it  is 


98  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

not  true.  Mr.  Hammond  is — yes,  I  will  be  quite  candid  with  you 
— he  is  the  only  man  I  am  ever  likely  to  admire  for  his  own 
sake ;  he  is  good,  brave,  clever,  all  that  you  think  him.  But 
you  and  I  do  not  live  in  a  world  in  which  girls  are  free  to  follow 
their  own  inclinations.  I  should  break  Lady  Maulevrier's  heart 
if  I  were  to  make  a  foolish  marriage,  and  I  owe  her  too  much 
to  set  her  wishes  at  naught,  or  to  make  her  declining  years  un- 
hajDpy.  I  must  obey  her  at  any  cost  to  my  own  feelings.  Please 
never  mention  Mr.  Hammond's  name.  I'm  sure  I  have  had 
quite  enough  unhappiness  about' him." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mary  bitterly.  "  It  is  your  own  pain  you  think 
of,  not  his.     He  may  suffer,  so  long  as  you  are  not  worried." 

"You  are  an  impertinent  chit,"  retorted  Lesbia,  "and  you 
know  nothing  about  it." 

After  this  there  was  no  more  said  about  Mr.  Hammond,  but 
Mary  did  not  forget  him.  She  wrote  long  letters  to  her  brother, 
who  was  still  in  Scotland,  shooting,  deer-stalking,  fishing,  killing 
something  or  other  daily,  in  the  most  approved  fashion  of  an 
Englishman  taking  his  pleasure.  Maulevrier  occasionally  re- 
paid her  with  a  telegram  ;  but  he  was  not  a  good  correspondent. 
He  declared  that  life  was  too  short  for  letter-writing.  Summer 
was  gone  ;  the  lake  was  no  longer  a  shining  emerald  floor,  dot- 
ted with  the  reflection  of  the  flock  upon  the  verdant  slopes  above 
it,  but  dull  and  gray  of  hue  and  broken  by  white-edged  wavelets. 
Patches  of  snow  gleamed  on  the  misty  heights  of  Helvellyn  and 
the  autumn  winds  howled  and  shrieked  around  Fellside  in  the 
evenings  when  all  the  shutters  were  shut  and  the  outside  world 
seemed  little  more  than  an  idea. 

Those  October  evenings  were  very  long  and  weary  for  Lesbia 
and  her  sister.  Lady  Maulevrier  read  and  mused  in  her  low 
chair  beside  the  fire,  with  her  books  piled  upon  her  own  partic- 
ular table,  and  lighted  by  her  own  particular  lamp.  She  talked 
very  little,  but  she  was  always  gracious  to  her  granddaughters 
and  their  governess,  and  she  liked  them  to  be  with  her  in  the  even- 
ing. Lesbia  played  or  sang,  or  sat  at  work  at  her  basket  table, 
which  occupied  the  other  side  of  the  fire-place,  and  Fraulein  and 
Mary  had  the  rest  of  the  room  to  themselves,  as  it  were,  those 
two  places  by  the  hearth  being  sacred,  as  if  dedicated  to  house- 
hold gods.  Mary  read  immensely  in  those  long  evenings,  de- 
vouring volume  after  volume,  feeding  her  imagination  with  every 
kind  of  nutriment,  good,  bad  and  indifferent.  Fraulein  Kirsch 
knitted  a  woollen  shawl,  which  seemed  to  have  neither  beginning, 
middle  nor  end,  and  was  always  ready  for  conversation ;  but 
there  were  times  when  silence  brooded  over  the  scene  for  long 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


99 


intervals,  and  when  every  sound  of  the  light  wood  ashes  dropping 
on  the  tiled  hearth  was  distinctly  audible. 

This  state  of  things  went  on  for  about  three  weeks  after  Les- 
bia's  return  from  St.  Bees,  Lady  Maulevrier  watchful  all  the 
time,  though  saying  nothing.  She  saw  that  Lesbia  was  not 
happy,  not  as  she  had  been  in  the  time  before  the  coming  of 
John  Hammond.  She  had  never  been  particularly  gay  or  light- 
hearted,  never  gifted  with  the  wild  spirits  and  buoyancy  which 
makes  girlhood  so  lovely  a  season  to  some  natures,  a  time  of 
dance  and  song  and  joyousness,  a  morning  of  life  steeped  in  the 
beauty  and  gladness  of  the  universe.  She  had  never  been  gay 
as  young  lambs  and  foals  and  fawns  and  kittens  and  puppy  dogs 
are  gay,  by  reason  of  the  well-spring  of  delight  within  them, 
■  needing  no  stimulus  from  the  outside  world.  She  had  been  just 
a  little  inclined  to  murmur  at  the  dullness  of  her  life  at  Fellside, 
yet  she  had  borne  herself  with  a  placid  sweetness  which  had 
been  Lady  Maulevrier's  delight.  But  now  there  was  a  marked 
change  in  her  manner.  She  was  not  less  submissive  and  dutiful 
in  her  bearing  to  her  grandmother,  whom  she  both  loved  and 
feared ;  but  there  were  moments  of  fretfulness  and  impatience 
which  she  could  not  conceal.  She  was  captious  and  sullen  in 
her  manner  to  Mary  and  the  Fraulein.  She  would  not  walk  or 
drive  with  them,  or  share  in  any  of  their  amusements.  Some- 
times of  an  evening  that  studious  silence  of  the  drawing-room 
was  suddenly  broken  by  Lesbia's  weary  sigh,  an  unconscious 
sigh,  which  she  breathed  unawares  as  she  bent  over  her  work. 

Lady  Maulevrier  saw,  too,  that  her  cheek  was  paler  than  of 
old,  her  eyes  less  bright  There  was  a  heavy  look  that  told  of 
broken  slumbers,  there  was  a  pinched  look  even  in  that  oval 
cheek.  Good  heavens!  if  her  beauty  were  to  pale  and  wane  be- 
fore society  had  bowed  down  and  worshiped  it,  if  this  fair 
flower  were  to  fade  untimely,  if  this  prize-rose  in  the  garden  of 
beauty  were  to  wither  and  decay  before  it  won  the  prize. 

Her  Ladyship  was  a  woman  of  action,  and  no  sooner  did  this 
fear  shape  itself  in  her  mind  than  she  took  steps  to  prevent  the 
evil  her  thoughts  foreshadowed. 

Among  those  friends  of  her  youth  and  allies  of  her  house  with 
whom  she  had  always  maintained  an  affectionate  correspond- 
ence was  Lady  Kirkbank,  the  fashionable  wife  of  a  sporting 
baronet,  owner  of  three  country  seats  and  a  fine  house  in  Arling- 
ton Street,  with  an  income  large  enough  for  their  thorough  en- 
joyment. When  Lady  Diana  Angersthorpe  shone  forth  in  the 
West  End  world  as  the  acknowledged  belle  of  the  season,  the 
star  of  Georgina  Lorimer  was  beginning  to  wane.     She  was  the 


lOQ  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

eldest  daughter  of  Colonel  Lorimer,  a  man  of  good  old  family, 
and  a  fine  soldier,  who  had  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Gough 
and  Lawrence,  and  who  had  contrived  to  make  a  figure  in  socie- 
ty with  very  small  means.  Georgina's  sisters  had  all  married 
well.  It  was  a  cas.e  of  necessity,  the  Colonel  told  them ;  they 
must  either  marry  or  gravitate  ultimately  to  the  workhouse.  So 
the  Misses  Lorimer  made  the  best  of  their  youth  and  freshness, 
and  '•  no  good  offer  refused  "  was  the  guiding  rule  of  their  young 
lives.  Lucy  married  an  East  India  merchant  and  set  up  a  fine 
house  in  Portchester  Terrace.  Maud  married  wealth  personified 
in  the  person  of  a  leading  member  of  the  Tallow  Chandlers' 
Company,  and  had  her  town  house  and  country  house,  and  as 
fine  a  set  of  diamonds  as  a  duchess. 

But  Georgina,  the  eldest,  trifled  with  her  chances,  and  her 
twenty-seventh  birthday  beheld  her  pouring  out  her  father's  tea 
in  a  small  furnished  house  in  a  street  off  Portland  Place,  which 
the  Colonel  had  hired  on  his  return  from  India,  and  which  he 
declared  himself  unable  to  maintain  another  year. 

"  Directly  the  season  is  over  I  shall  give  up  housekeeping 
and  take  a  lodging  at  Bath,"  said  Colonel  Lorimer.  "  If  you  don't 
like  Bath  all  the  year  round  you  can  stay  with  your  sisters." 

"That  ts  the  last  thing  I  am  likely  to  do,"  answered  Georgina ; 
"  my  sisters  were  barely  endurable  when  they  were  single  and 
poor.  They  are  quite  intolerable  now  they  are  married  and  rich. 
I  would  sooner  live  in  the  monkey  house  at  the  Zoological  than 
stay  with  either  Lucy  or  Maud." 

"That's  rank  envy,"  retorted  her  father.  "You  can't  forgive 
them  for  having  done  so  much  better  than  you." 

"  I  can't  forgive  them  for  having  married  snobs.  When  I 
marry  I  shall  marry  a  gentleman." 

"  When  !  "  echoed  the  parent,  with  a  sneering  laugh.  "  Hadn't 
you  better  say  '  if '  ?  " 

At  this  period  Georgina's  waning  good  looks  were  in  some 
measure  counterbalanced  by  the  cumulative  effects  of  half  a 
dozen  seasons  in  good  society,  w^iich  had  given  style  to 
her  person,  ease  to  her  manners  and  sharpness  to  her  tongue. 
Nobody  in  society  said  sharper  or  more  unpleasant  things  than 
Miss  Lorimer,  and  by  virtue  of  this  gift  she  got  invited  about  a  great 
deal  more  than  she  might  have  done  had  she  been  renowned 
for  sweetness  of  speech  and  manner.  Georgie  Lorimer's  pres- 
ence at  a  dinner  table  gave  just  that  pungent  flavor  which  is  like 
the  faint  suspicion  of  garlic  in  a  fricassee  or  of  shalot  in  a  salad. 

Now  in  this  very  season,  when  Colonel  Lorimer  was  inclined 
to  speak  of  his  daughter,  as  Sainte  Beuve  wrote  of  Musset,  as  a 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  loi 

young  woman  with  a  very  brilliant  past,  a  lucky  turn  of  events 
o-ave  Georgina  a  fresh  start  in  life,  which  may  be  called  a  new 
departure.  Lady  Diana  Angersthorpe,  the  belle  of  the  season, 
took  a  fancy  to  her,  was  charmed  with  her  sharp  tongue  and 
acute  sense  of  the  ridiculous.  The  two  became  fast  friends 
and  were  seen  everywhere  together.  The  best  men  all  flocked 
round  the  beauty,  and  all  talked  to  the  beauty's  companion  ;  and  be- 
fore the  season  was  over,  Sir  George  Kirkbank,  who  had  half 
made  up  his  mind  to  propose  to  Lady  Diana,  found  himself  en- 
gaged to  that  uncommonly  jolly  girl,  Lady  Diana's  friend.  Geor- 
gina; spent  August  and  September  with  her  friend,  at  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Corrisbroke's  delightful  villa  in  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
and  Sir  George  kept  his  yacht  at  Cowes  all  the  time,  and  w^as  in 
constant  attendance  upon  his  fiancee.  It  was  George  and 
Georgie  everywhere.  In  October  Colonel  Lorimer  had  the  pro- 
found pleasure  of  giving  away  his  daughter,  before  the  altar  in 
St.  George's  Hanover  Square,  and  it  may  be  said  of  him  that 
nothing  in  his  relations  with  that  young  lady  became  him  better 
than  his  manner  of  parting  with  her. 

So  the  needy  Colonel's  daughter  became  Lady  Kirkbank,  and 
in  the  following  spring  Diana  Angersthorpe  was  magged  at  the 
same  St.  George's  to  the  Earl  of  Maulevrier.  The  friends  were 
divided  by  distance  and  by  circumstances  as  the  years  rolled  on, 
but  friendship  was  steadily  maintained,  and  a  regular  correspond- 
ence with  Lady  Kirkbank,  whose  pen  was  as  sharp  as  her 
tongue,  was  one  of  the  means  by  which  Lady  Maulevrier  had 
kept  herself  thoroughly  posted  in  all  those  small  events,  unre- 
corded by  newspapers,  which  make  up  the  secret  history  of 
society. 

It  was  of  her  old  friend  Georgie  that  her  Ladyship  thought  in 
her  present  anxiety.  Lady  Kirkbank  had  more  than  once  sug- 
gested that  Lady  Maulevrier's  granddaughters  should  vary  the 
monotony  of  Fellside  by  a  visit  to  her  place  near  Doncaster,  or 
her  castle  north  of  Aberdeen  ;  but  her  Ladyship  had  evaded  these 
friendly  suggestions,  being  very  jealous  of  any  strange  influence 
upon  Lesbia's  life.  Now,  however,  there  had  come  a  time  when 
Lesbia  must  have  a  complete  change  of  scenery  and  surround- 
ings, lest  she  should  pine  and  dwindle  in  sullen  submission  to 
fate,  or  else  defy  the  world  and  elope  with  Mr.  Hammond. 

Now,  therefore,  Lady  Maulevrier  decided  to  accept  Lady 
Kirkbank's  hospitality.  She  told  her  friend  the  whole  story 
with  perfect  frankness,  and  her  letter  was  immediately  answerQd 
by  telegram. 

*'  I  start  for  Scotland  to-morrow,  will  break  my  journey  by 


102  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

staying  a  night  at  Fellside,  and  will  take  Lady  Lesbia  on   to 
Kirkbank  with  me  next  day,  if  she  can  be  ready  to  go." 

"  She  shall  be  ready,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier. 

She  told  Lesbia  that  she  had  accepted  an  invitation  for  her, 
and  that  she  was  to  go  to  Kirkbank  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
She  was  prepared  for  unwillingness,  resistance  even  ;  but  Lesbia 
received  the  news  with  evident  pleasure. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go,"  she  said,  "  this  place  is  so  dull. 
Of  course  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  you,  grandmamma,  and  I 
wish  you  would  go  with  me  ;  but  any  change  will  be  a  relief.  I 
think  if  I  had  to  stay  here  all  the  Winter,  counting  the  days  and 
hours,  I  should  go  out  of  my  mind." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  but  she  wiped  them  away  hur- 
riedly, ashamed  of  her  emotion. 

"  My  dearest  child,  I  am  so  sorr}'  for  you,"  murmured  Lady 
Maulevrier,  "  but  believe  me,  the  day  will  come  when  you  will 
be  very  glad  that  you  conquered  the  first  foolish  inclination  of 
your  girlish  heart." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,  when  I  am  eighty,"  Lesbia  answered  im- 
patiently. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  submit  to  the  inevitable.  She 
had  loved  John  Hammond — had  been  as  near  breaking  her  heart 
for  him  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to  break  her  heart  for  anybody  ; 
but  she  wanted  to  make  a  great  marriage,  to  be  renowned  and 
admired.  She  had  been  reared  and  trained  for  that ;  and  she 
was  not  going  to  belie  her  training. 

A  visitor  from  the  great  London  world  was  so  rare  an  event 
that  there  was  naturally  a  little  excitement  in  the  idea  of  Lady 
Kirkbank's  arrival.  The  handsomest  and  most  spacious  of  the 
spare  bed-rooms  had  been  prepared  for  the  occasion.  The 
housekeeper  had  been  told  that  the  dinner  must  be  perfect. 
There  must  be  nothing  old-fashioned  or  ponderous  ;  there  must 
be  mind  as  well  as  matter  in  everything.  Rarely  did  Lady 
Maulevrier  look  at  a  bill  of  fare,  but  on  this  particular  morning 
she  went  carefully  through  the  menu,  and  corrected  it  with  her 
own  hand. 

A  pair  of  post-horses  brought  Lady  Kirkbank  and  her  maid 
from  Windermere  station  in  time  for  afternoon  tea,  and  the 
friends  who  had  only  met  twice  within  the  last  forty  years,  em- 
braced each  other  on  the  threshold  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  morn- 
ing-room. 

"  My  dearest  Di,"  cried  Lady  Kirkbank,  "  what  a  delight  to 
see  you  again  after  such  ages  ;  and  what  a  too  lovely  spot  you 
have  choosen  for  your  retreat  from  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  103 

devil.  If  I  could  "be  a  recluse  anywhere,  it  would  be  amongst 
just  such  delicious  surroundings." 

Without,  twilight  shades  were  gathering ;  within,  there  was 
only  the  light  of  a  fire  and  a  shaded  lamp  upon  the  tea-table ; 
there  was  just  light  enough  for  the  two  women  to  see  each 
other's  face  and  the  change  which  time  had  wrought  there. 

Never  did  womanhood  in  advanced  years  offer  a  more  strik- 
ing contrast  than  that  presented  by  the  woman  of  fashion  and 
the  recluse.  Lady  Maulevrier  was  almost  as  handsome  in  the 
Winter  of  her  days  as  she  had  been  when  life  was  in  its  Spring. 
The  tali,  slim  figure,  erect  as  a  dart,  the  delicately  chiseled  feat- 
ures and  alabaster  complexion,  the  soft,  silvery  hair,  the  perfect 
hand,  whiter  and  more  transparent  than  the  hand  of  girlhood, 
the  stately  movements  and  bearing,  all  combined  to  make  Lady 
Maulevrier  a  queen  among  women.  Her  brocade  gown  of  a 
deep  shade  of  red,  with  a  border  of  dark  sable  on  cuffs  and 
collar,  suggested  a  portrait  by  Velasquez.  She  wore  no  orna- 
ment except  the  fine  old  Brazilian  diamonds  which  flashed  and 
sparkled  upon  her  slender  fingers. 

If  Lady  Maulevrier  looked  like  a  picture  in  the  Escurial, 
Lady  Kirkbank  resembled  a  caricature  in  the  Vie  Parisienne. 
Everything  she  wore  was  in  the  very  latest  fashion  of  the  Par- 
isian demi-monde,  that  exaggerated  elegance  of  a  fashion-plate 
which  only  the  most  exquisite  of  women  could  redeem  from  vul- 
garity. Plush,  brocade,  peacock's  feathers,  golden  bangles, 
mousquetaire  gloves,  a  bonnet  of  purple  plumage  set  off  by  or- 
naments of  filigree  gold,  an  infantine  little  muff  of  lace  and  wild 
flowers,  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  hair,  eyebrows  and  com- 
plexion as  artificial  as  the  flowers  on  the  muff. 

All  that  art  could  do  to  obliterate  the  traces  of  age  had  been 
done  for  Georgina  Kirkbank.  But  seventy  years  are  not  to  be 
obliterated  easily,  and  the  crow's  feet  showed  through  the  bloom 
de  Ninon,  and  the  eyes  under  the  painted  arches  were  glassy 
and  haggard — the  carnation  lips  had  a  withered  look.  Age  was 
made  all  the  more  palpable  by  the  artifice  which  would  have 
disguised  it. 

Lady  Maulevrier  suffered  an  absolute  shock  at  beholding  the 
friend  of  her  youth.  She  had  not  accustomed  herself  to  the  idea 
that  women  in  society  could  raddle  their  cheeks,  stain  their  lips 
and  play  tricks  before  high  heaven  with  their  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes.  In  her  own  youth  painted  faces  had  been  the  ghastly 
privilege  of  a  class  of  womanhood  of  which  the  women  of  society 
were  supposed  to  know  nothing.  Persons  who  showed  their 
ankles  and  rouged  their  cheeks  were  to  be  seen  of  an  afternoon 


104  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

in  Bond  Street ;  but  Lady  Angersthorpe  had  been  taught  to  pass 
them  by  as  if  she  saw  them  not,  to  behold  without  seeing  these 
creatures  outside  the  pale.  And  now  she  saw  her  own  dearest 
friend,  a  person  distinctly  within  the  pale,  plastered  with  bis- 
muth and  stained  with  carmine,  and  wearing  hair  of  a  color  so 
obviously  false  and  inharmonious  that  child-like  faith  could 
hardly  accept  it  as  a  reality.  Forty  years  ago  Lady  Kirkbank's 
long  ringlets  had  been  darkest,  glossiest  brown,  to-day  she  wore 
a  tousled  fringe  of  bright  yellow,  piquantly  contrasting  with  burnt 
sienna  eyebrows. 

It  took  Lady  Maulevrier  some  moments  to  get  over  the 
shock.  She  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire  and  established  her  friend 
in  it,  and  then,  with  a  little  gasp,  she  said : 

"  I  am  charmed  to  see  you  again,  Georgie  !  " 

"  You  darling,  I  was  sure  you  would  be  glad.  But  you  must 
find  me  awfully  changed — awfully." 

For  worlds  Lady  Maulevrier  could  not  have  denied  this 
truth.     Happily  Lady  Kirkbank  did  not  wait  for  an  answer. 

"  Society  is  so  wearing,  and  George  and  I  never  seem  to  get 
an  interval  of  quiet.  Kirkbank  is  to  be  full  of  men  next  week. 
Your  granddaughter  will  have  a  good  time. 

"There  will  be  a  few  women,  of  course  1 " 

"  Oh,  yes,  there's  no  avoiding  that ;  only  one  doesn't  reckon 
them.  Sir  George  only  counts  his  guns.  We  expect  a  splendid 
season.     I  shall  send  you  some  birds  of  my  own  shooting." 

"  You  shoot !  "  exclaimed  Lady  Maulevrier,  amazed. 

"  Shoot !  I  should  think  I  do.  What  else  is  there  to  amuse 
one  in  Scotland,  after  the  salmon  fishing  is  over  t  I  have  never 
missed  a  season  for  the  last  thirty  years,  unless  we  have  been 
abroad." 

"  Please  don't  inoculate  Lesbia  with  your  love  of  sport." 

"  What !  you  wouldn't  like  her  to  shoot  ?  Well,  perhaps  you 
are  right.  It  is  hardly  the  thing  for  a  pretty  girl  with  her 
fortune  to  make.  It  spoils  the  delicacy  of  the  skin.  But  I'm 
afraid  she'll  find  Kirkbank  dull  if  she  doesn't  go  out  with  the 
guns.  She  can  meet  us  with  the  rest  of  the  women  at  luncheon. 
We  have  some  capital  picnic  luncheons  on  the  moor,  I  can  as- 
sure you." 

"  I  know  she  will  enjoy  herself  with  you.  She  has  been 
accustomed  to  a  ver}^  quiet  life  here." 

"  It  is  a  lovely  spot,  but  I  own  I  cannot  understand  how  you 
can  have  lived  here  exclusively  during  all  these  years,  you  who 
used  to  be  all  life  and  fire,  loving  change,  action,  political  and 
diplomatic  society,  to  dance  upon  the  crest  of  the  wave,  as  it 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  105 

were.     Your  whole  nature  must  have   suffered   some   curious 

change."  ,  ,  r       1  r 

Their  close  intimacy  of  the  past  warranted  some  freedom  of 
speech  in  the  present. 

''  My  nature  did  undergo  a  change,  and  a  severe  one," 
answered  Lady  Maulevrier,  gloomily. 

"It  was  that  horrid — and  I  dare  say  unfounded — scandal 
about  his  Lordship;  and  then  the  sad  shock  of  his  death," 
murmured  Lady  Kirkbank,  sympathetically.  "Most  women, 
with  your  youth  and  beauty,  would  have  forgotten  the  scandal 
and  the  husband  in  a  twelvemonth,  and  would  have  made  a 
second  marriage  more  brilliant  than  the  first.  But  no  Indian 
widow  who  ever  performed  suttee  was  more  worthy  of  praise 
than  you,  or  even  that  person  of  Ephesus,  whose  story  I  have 
heard  somewhere.  Indeed,  I  have  always  spoken  of  your  life 
as  a  long  suttee.  But  you  mean  to  reappear  in  society  next 
season,  I  hope,  when  you  present  your  granddaughter." 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  up  to  London  to  present  her,  and  possi- 
bly I  may  spend  the  season  in  town  ;  but  I  shall  feel  like  Rip 
Van  Winkle." 

"  No,  no,  you  won't,  my  dear  Di.  You  have  kept  yourself  au 
courant,  I  know.  Even  my  silly  gossiping  letters  may  have 
been  of  some  use. 

"They  have  been  most  valuable.  Let  me  give  you  another 
cup  of  tea,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  who  had  been  _  officiating  at 
her  own  exquisite  tea  table,  an  arrangement  of  inlaid  woods, 
antique  silver  and  modern  china,  which  her  friend  pronounced 
a  perfect  poem. 

Indeed  the  whole  room  was  poetic.  Lady  Kirkbank  declared, 
and  there  are  many  highly  praised  scenes  which  less  deserve 
the  epithet.  The  dark  red  walls  and  cedar  dado,  the  stamped 
velvet  curtains,  of  an  indescribable  shade  between  silver  gray 
and  olive,  the  Sheraton  furniture,  the  parqueterie  floor  and 
Persian  prayer-rugs,  the  deep  yet  brilliant  hues  of  crackle 
porcelain  and  Chinese  cloisonne  enamel,  the  artistic  fireplace, 
with  dog-stove,  lov/  brass  fender  and  andirons  and  ingle  nook 
nestling  under  the  high  mantelpiece,  all  combined  to  form  a 
luxurious  and  harmonious  whole. 

Lady  Kirkbank  admired  the  tout  ensemble  in  the  fitful  light 
of  the  fire  and  dim  gray  of  deepening  twilight. 

"There  never  was  a  more  delicious  cell,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  but  still  I  should  feel  it  a  prison  if  I  had  to  spend  six  weeks 
in  the  year  in  it.  I  never  stay  more  than  six  weeks  anywhere 
out  of  London ;  and  I  always  find  six  weeks  more  than  enough. 


I06  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

The  first  fortnight  is  rapture,  the  third  and  fourth  are  calm 
content,  the  fifth  is  weariness,  the  sixth  a  fever  to  be  gone. 
I  once  tried  a  seventh  week  at  Pontresina,  and  I  hated  the 
place  so  intensely  that  I  dared  not  go  back  there  for  the  next 
three  years.  But  now  tell  me,  Diana,  have  3-ou  really  performed 
suttee,  have  you  buried  yourself  in  this  sweet  spot  deliberately, 
or  has  the  love  of  retirement  come  upon  you,  and  have  you 
become  a  kind  of  lotus  eater  "i " 

"  I  believe  I  have  become  a  kind  of  lotus  eater.  My  retire- 
ment here  has  been  no  sentimental  sacrifice  to  Lord  Maule- 
vrier's  memory." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  for  really  I  think  the  worst  possible 
use  a  woman  can  make  of  her  life  is  in  wasting  it  on  lamenta- 
tion for  a  dead  and  gone  husband.  Life  is  odiously  short  at 
the  best,  and  it  is  mere  imbecility  to  fritter  away  any  of  our 
scanty  portion  upon  the  dead,  who  can  never  be  any  the  better 
for  our  tears." 

"  My  motive  in  living  at  Fellside  was  not  reverence  for  the 
dead.  And  now  let  us  talk  of  the  gay  world,  of  which  you 
know  all  the  secrets.  Have  you  heard  anything  more  about 
Lord  Hartfield  ? " 

"Ah,  there  is  a  subject  in  which  you  have  reason  to  be  in- 
terested. 1  have  not  forgotten  the  romance  of  your  youth — 
that  first  season  in  w^hich  Ronald  Hollister  used  to  haunt  every 
place  at  which  you  appeared.  Do  you  remember  that  wet 
afternoon  at  the  Chiswick  flower  show  when  you  and  he  and  I 
took  shelter  in  the  orange  house,  and  you  two  made  love  to 
each  other  most  audaciously  in  an  atmosphere  of  orange  blos- 
soms that  almost  stifled  me  ?     Yes  those  were  glorious  days." 

"  A  short  Summer  of  gladness,  a  brief  dream,"  sighed  Lady 
Maulevrier.     "  Is  young  Lord  Hartfield  like  his  father  }  " 

"No,  he  takes  after  the  Ilmingtoons  ;  but  still  a  look  of  your 
old  sweetheart — yes,  I  think  there  is  an  expression.  I  have 
not  seen  him  for  nearly  a  year.  These  young  men  who  be- 
long to  the  Geographical  and  the  Alpine  Club  are  hardly  ever 
at  home." 

*'  But  though  they  may  be  sometimes  lost  to  society,  they  are 
all  the  more  worthy  of  society's  esteem  w^hen  they  do  appear," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  I  think  there  must  be  an  ennobling 
and  purifying  influence  in  Alpine  travel,  or  in  the  vast  solitudes 
of  the  dark  continent.  A  man  finds  himself  face  to  face  wdth 
unsophisticated  nature  and  the  grandest  forces  of  the  universe. 
Professor  Tyndall  writes  delightfully  of  his  Alpine  experiences; 
his  noble  mind  seems  to  have  ripened  in  the  solitude  and  un- 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUA  'E.  1 07 

tainted  air  of  the  Alps.  And  I  believe  Lord  Hartfield  is  a  young 
man  of  very  high  character  and  of  considerable  cultivation,  is  he 
not  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  splendid  young  fellow,  I  never  heard  a  word  to 
his  disparagement,  even  from  those  people  who  pretend  to  know 
something  bad  about  everybody.  What  a  husband  he  would 
make  for  one  of  your  girls  !  " 

"  Admirable,  but  those  perfect  arrangements,  which  seem  pre- 
destined by  heaven  itself,  are  so  rarely  realized  on  earth," 
answered  the  Dowager,  lightly. 

She  was  not  going  to  show  her  cards,  even  to  an  old  friend. 

"  Well,  it  would  be  very  sweet  if  they  were  to  meet  next  sea- 
son and  fall  in  love  with  each  other,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank. 
"  He  is  enormously  rich,  and  I  dare  say  your  girls  will  not  be 
portionless." 

"  Lesbia  may  take  a  lowly  place  among  heiresses,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier.  "  I  have  lived  so  quietly  during  the  last  forty 
years  that  I  could  hardly  help  saving  money — " 

"  How  nice,"  sighed  Georgie.  "  I  never  saved  sixpence  in 
my  life,  and  am  always  in  debt." 

'"  The  little  fortune  I  have  saved  is  much  too  small  for  di- 
vision. Lesbia  will  therefore  have  all  I  can  leave  her.  Mary 
has  the  usual  provision  as  a  daughter  of  the  Maulevrier  house." 

*'  And  I  suppose  Lesbia  has  that  provision,  also  ? " 

"  Of  course." 

"Lucky  Lesbia.  I  only  wish  Hartfield  were  coming  to  us 
for  the  shooting.  I  would  engage  he  should  fall  in  love  with 
her.  Kirkbank  is  a  splendid  place  for  match-making.  And 
now,  my  dear  Diana,  tell  me  more  about  yourself  and  your  own 
life  in  this  delicious  place." 

"There  is  so  little  to  tell.  The  books  I  have  read,  the 
theories  of  literature  and  art  and  science  which  I  have  adopted 
and  dismissed,  learnt  and  forgotten — thc:.e  are  the  history  ot 
my  life.  The  ideas  of  the  outside  world  reach  me  here  only  in 
books  ;  but  you  who  have  been  living  in  the  world  must  have 
so  much  to  say.     Let  me  be  the  listener." 

Lady  Kirkbank  desired  nothing  better.  She  rattled  on  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  about  her  doings  in  the  great  world, 
her  social  triumphs,  the  wonderful  things  she  had  for  Sir 
George,  who  seemed  to  be  as  a  puppet  in  her  hands,  the  princes 
and  princelings  she  had  entertained,  the  songs  she  had  com- 
posed, the  comedy  she  had  written,  for  private  representation 
only,  albeit  the  Haymarket  manager  was  dying  to  produce  it, 
the  scathins:  witticisms  with  which  she  had  withered  her  social 


io8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

enemies.  She  would  have  gone  on  much  longer  but  for  the 
gong  which  reminded  her  that  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Half  an  hour  later  Lady  Kirkbank  was  in  the  drawing-room 
where  Mary  had  retired  to  the  most  shadowy  corner,  anxious  to 
escape  the  gaze  of  the  fashionable  visitor. 

But  Lady  Kirkbank  was  not  inclined  to  take  much  notice  of 
Mary.  Lesbia's  brilliant  beauty,  the  exquisite  Greek  head,  the 
faultless  complexion,  the  deep,  violet  eyes,  caught  Georgina 
Kirkbank's  eye  the  moment  she  entered  the  room,  and  she  saw 
that  this  girl  and  no  other  must  be  the  beauty,  the  beloved  and 
chosen  grandchild. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  t  "  she  said,  taking  Lesbia's  hand, 
and  then,  as  if  with  a  gush  of  warm  feeling,  suddenly  drawing 
the  girl  toward  her  and  kissing  her  on  both  cheeks.  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  be  desperately  fond  of  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  soon  con- 
trive to  like  me — just  a  little." 

"I  feel  sure  that  I  shall  like  you  very  much,"  Lesbia  an- 
swered, sweetly.  "  I  am  prepared  to  love  you  as  grandmother's 
old  friend." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  to  think  that  I  should  ever  be  the  old  friend 
of  anybody's  grandmother,"  sighed  Lady  Kirkbank,  with  unaf- 
fected regret.  "  When  I  was  your  age  I  used  to  think  all  old 
people  odious.  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  I  should  live  to  be 
one  of  them." 

"Then  you  had  no  dear  grandmother  whom  you  loved," 
said  Lesbia,  "  or  you  would  have  liked  old  people  for  her  sake." 

"  No,  my  love,  I  had  no  grandparents.  I  had  a  father,  and 
he  was  all  sufficient ;  anything  beyond  him  in  the  ancestral  line 
would  have  utterly  crushed  me." 

Dinner  was  announced,  and  Mary  came  shyly  out  of  her 
corner,  blushing  deeply. 

"  And  this  is  Lady  Mary,  I  suppose,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank  in 
an  off-hand  way.  "  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  I  am  going  to 
steal  your  sister." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  faltered  Mary.  "  I  mean  I  am  glad  that 
Lesbia  should  enjoy  herself." 

"  And  some  fine  day  when  Lesbia  is  married  and  a  great  lady 
I  shall  ask  you  to  come  to  Scotland,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  con- 
descendingly, and  then  she  murmured  in  her  friend's  ear,  as  they 
went  to  the  dining-room,  "  Quite  an  English  girl ;  very  fresh  and 
frank  and  nice,"  which  was  great  praise  for  such  a  second-rate 
young  person  as  Lady  Mary. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Lesbia? "  asked  Lady  Maulevrier,  in 
the  same  undertone. 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 09 

"  She  is  simply  perfect.  Your  letters  prepared  me  to  expec4: 
beauty,  but  not  such  beauty.  My  dear,  I  thought  the  progress 
of  the  human  race  was  all  in  a  downward  line  since  our  time, 
but  your  granddaughter  is  as  handsone  as  you  were  in  your  first 
season,  and  that  is  going  very  far." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  NOT  YET." 

Lady  Kirkbank  carried  off  Lesbia  early  next  day,  the  girl 
radiant  at  the  idea  of  seeing  life  under  the  new  conditions.  She 
had  a  few  minutes'  serious  talk  with  her  grandmother  before  she 
went. 

"  Lesbia,  you  are  going  into  the  world,"  said  Lady  Maule- 
vrier ;  "  yes,  even  a  country  house  is  the  world  in  little.  You 
will  have  many  admirers  instead  of  one ;  but  I  think,  I  believe, 
that  you  will  be  true  to  me  and  yourself." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  grandmamma.  I  have  been  an  idiot ; 
but — but  it  was  only  a  passing  folly,  and  I  shall  never  be  so 
weak  again." 

Lesbia's  scornful  lips  and  kindling  eyes  gave  intensity  to  her 
speech.  It  was  evident  that  she  despised  herself  for  that  one 
touch  of  womanly  softness  which  had  made  her  as  ready  to  fall 
in  love  with  her  first  wooer  as  any  peasant  girl  in  Grasmere 
Vale.  , 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  speak  thus,  dearest,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier.  "And  if  Mr.  Hamilton — Hammond,  I  mean — 
should  have  the  audacity  to  follow  you  to  Kirkbank,  and  to  in- 
trude himself  upon  you  there — perhaps  to  persecute  you  with 
clandestine  addresses — " 

"  I  do  not  believe  he  would  do  anything  clandestine,"  said 
Lesbia  drawing  herself  up.     '•  He  is  quite  above  that." 

"  My  dear  child,  we  know  absolutely  nothing  about  him.  He 
has  his  way  to  make  in  this  world,  unaided  by  family  or  connec- 
tions. He  is  clever — daring.  Such  a  man  cannot  help  being 
an  adventurer;  and  an  adventurer  is  capable  of  anything.  I 
warn  you  to  beware  of  him." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  see  his  face  again,"  retorted 
Lesbia,  irritably. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  her  life  was  not  to  be  spoiled, 


no  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

her  brilliant  future  sacrificed,  for  the  sake  of  John  Hammond ; 
but  the  wound  which  she  had  suffered  in  renouncing  him  was 
still  fresh,  her  feelings  were  still  sore.  Any  contemptuous  irien- 
tion  of  him  stung  her  to  the  quick. 

"  I  hope  not.  And  you  will  beware  of  other  adventurers, 
Lesbia,  men  of  a  worse  stamp  than  Mr.  Hammond,  more  expe- 
rienced in  ruse  and  iniquity,  men  steeped  to  the  lips  in  worldly 
knowledge,  men  who  look  upon  women  as  mere  counters  in  the 
game  of  life.  The  world  thinks  that  I  am  rich,  and  you  will  no 
doubt  take  rank  as  an  heiress.  You  will  therefore  be  a  mark 
for  every  spendthrift,  noble  or  otherwise,  who  wants  to  restore  his 
broken  fortunes  by  a  wealthy  marriage.  And  now,  my  dearest, 
good-by.  Half  my  heart  goes  with  you.  Nothing  could  induce 
me  to  part  with  you,  even  for  a  few  weeks,  except  the  conviction 
that  it  is  for  your  good." 

"  But  we  shall  not  be  parted  next  year,  I  hope,  grandmother," 
said  Lesbia  affectionately.  ''  You  said  something  about  present- 
ing me  and  then  leaving  me  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  care  for  the 
season.  I  should  not  like  that  at  all.  I  want  you  to  go  every- 
where with  me,  to  teach  me  all  the  mysteries  of  the  great  world. 
You  have  always  promised  me  that  it  should  be  so." 

"  And  I  have  always  intended  that  it  should  be  so.  I  hope 
that  it  will  be  so,"  answered  her  grandmother,  with  a  sigh, 
"  but  I  am  an  old  woman,  Lesbia,  and  I  am  rooted  to  this 
place.'' 

"  But  why  should  you  be  rooted  here  ?  What  charm  can  keep 
you  here,  when  3^ou  are  so  fitted  to  shine  in  society  ?  You  are 
old  in  nothing  but  years,  and  not  even  old  in  3'ears  in  compari- 
son with  women  whom  we  hear  of  going  everywhere  and  mixing 
in  every  fashionable  amusement.  You  are  'full  of  fire  and  energy, 
and  as  active  as  any  girl.  Why  should  you  not  enjoy  a  London 
season,  grandmother?"  pleaded  Lesbia,  nestling  her  head  lov- 
ingly against  Lady  Maulevrier's  shoulder. 

"  I  should  enjoy  it,  dearest,  with  you.  It  would  be  a  renewal 
of  my  youth  to  see  you  shine  and  conquer.  I  should  be  as  proud 
as  if  the  glory  were  all  my  own.  Yes,  dear,  I  hope  I  shall 
be  a  spectator  of  your  triumphs.  But  do  not  let  us  plan  the  fut- 
ure. Life  is  so  full  of  changes.  Remember  what  Horace 
says — " 

"  Horace  is  a  bore,"  said  Lesbia.  "  I  hate  a  poet  who  is  al- 
ways harping  upon  change  and  death." 

The  carriage  which  was  to  take  the  travelers  to  Windermere 
station  was  announced  at  this  moment,  and  Lesbia  and  her 
grandmother  gave  each  other  the  farewell  embrace. 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 1 1 

"  You  like  Lady  Kirkbank,  I  hope,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  as 
they  went  toward  the  hall  where  that  lady  was  waiting  for  them, 
wilh  Lady  Mary  and  Fraulein  Kirsch  in  attendance  upon  her. 

"  She  seems  very  kind,  but  I  should  like  her  better  if  she  did 
not  paint — or  if  she  painted  better." 

"  My  dear  child,  I'm  afraid  it  is  the  fashion  of  the  day,  just 
as  it  was  in  Pope's  time,  and  we  ought  to  think  nothing  about 
it." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  get  hardened  in  time." 

"  My  dearest  Lesbia,"  shrieked  Lady  Kirkbank  from  below, 
"  remember,  we  have  to  catch  a  train." 

Lesbia  hurried  downstairs,  followed  by  Lady  Maulevrier,  who 
had  bid  her  friend  adieu.  The  luggage  had  been  sent  on  in  a 
cart.  Lesbia's  trunks  and  dress  baskets  forming  no  small  item. 
She  was  so  well  furnished  with  pretty  gowns  of  all  kinds  that 
there  had  been  no  difficulty  in  getting  her  ready  for  this  sudden 
visit.  Her  maid  was  on  the  box  beside  the  coachman.  Lady 
Kirkbank's  attendant,  a  French  woman  of  five-and-thirty,  was  to 
occupy  the  back  seat  of  the  landau. 

Lady  Mary  looked  after  her  sister  longingly  as  the  carriage 
drove  down  the  hill.  She  was  going  into  a  new  world,  to  see  all 
kinds  of  people — clever  people — distinguished  people — musical, 
artistic,  political  people — hunting  and  shooting  people — while 
Mary  was  to  stay  at  home  all  the  Winter  among  the  old  familiar 
faces.  Dearly  as  she  loved  these  hills  and  vales  her  heart  sank 
a  little  at  the  thought  of  these  long,  lonely  months,  days  and 
evenings  that  would  be  all  alike,  and  which  must  be  spent  with- 
out sympathetic  companionship.  And  there  would  be  the  dreary 
days  on  which  the  weather  would  keep  her  a  prisoner  in  her  lux- 
urious jail,  when  the  mountains,  and  the  rugged  paths  beside 
the  mountain  streams,  would  be  inaccessible,  when  she  would  be 
restricted  to  Fraulein  Kirsch's  phlegmatic  society,  that  lady 
being  stout  and  lazy,  fond  of  her  meals,  and  given  to  afternoon 
skmibers.  Lesbia  and  Mary  were  not  by  any  means  sympa- 
thetic, yet  after  all  blood  is  thicker  than  water,  and  Lesbia  was 
intelligent  and  could  talk  of  the  things  Mary  loved,  which  was 
better  than  total  dumbness,  even  if  she  generally  took  an  an- 
tagonistic view  of  them. 

"  I  shall  miss  her  dreadfully,"  thought  Mary,  as  she  strolled 
listlessly  in  the  garden,  where  the  leaves  were  falling  and  the 
flowers  fading. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  will  see  Mr.  Hammond  at  Lady  Kirkbank's," 
mused  Mary.  "  If  he  were  anything  like  a  lover  he  would  find 
out  all  about  her  visit,  and  seize  the  opportunity  of  her  being 


1 1 2  PIIA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

away  from  grandmother.     But  then  if  he  had  been  much  of  a 
lover  he  would  have  followed  her  to  St.  Bees." 

Lady  Maulevrier  sorely  missed  her  favorite  grandchild.  In  a 
life  spent  in  such  profound  seclusion,  so  remote  from  the  busy 
interests  of  the  world,  this  beloved  companionship  had  become 
a  necessity  to  her.  She  had  concentrated  her  affections  upon 
Lesbia,  and  the  girl's  absence  made  a  fearful  blank.  But  her 
Ladyship's  dignity  was  not  compromised  by  any  outward  sign  of 
trouble  or  loss. 

She  spent  her  morning  in  her  own  room,  reading  and  writing 
and  musing  at  her  leisure  ;  she  drove  or  walked  every  fine  after- 
noon, sometimes  alone,  sometimes  attended  by  Mary,  except  on 
those  rare  occasions  when  there  were  visitors — the  vicar  and  his 
wife,  or  some  wandering  star  from  other  worlds. 

Mary  lived  in  profound  awe  of  her  grandmother,  but  was  far 
too  frank  a  nature  to  be  able  to  adapt  her  speech  or  her  man- 
ners to  her  Ladyship's  idea  of  feminine  perfection.  She  was 
silent  and  shy  under  those  falcon  eyes ;  but  she  was  still  the 
same  Mary,  the  girl  to  whom  pretense  or  simulation  of  any  kind 
was  impossible. 

Letters  came  almost  every  day  from  Kirkbank  Castle,  letters 
from  Lesbia  describing  the  bright,  gay  life  she  was  living  at  that 
hospitable  abode,  the  excursions,  the  rides,  the  dances,  the  pic- 
nic luncheons  after  the  morning's  sport,  the  dinner  parties. 

"  It  is  the  most  delightful  house  you  can  imagine,"  wrote  Les- 
bia ;  "  and  Lady  Kirkbank  is  an  adorable  hostess.  I  have  quite 
forgiven  her  for  wearing  false  eyebrows  ;  for  after  all,  you  know, 
one  must  have  eyebrows,  it  is  a  necessity ;  but  why  does  she  not 
have  the  two  arches  alike  ?  They  are  never  a  pair,  and  I  really 
think  that  French  maid  of  hers  does  it  on  purpose. 

"  By-the-by,  Lady  Kirkbank  is  going  to  write  to  you  to  be- 
seech you  to  let  me  go  to  Cannes  and  Monte  Carlo  with  her. 
Sir  George  insists  upon  it.  He  says  they  both  like  young  soci- 
ety, and  will  be  horribly  vexed  if  I  refuse  to  go  with  them.  And 
Lady  Kirkbank  thinks  my  chest  is  just  a  little  weak — I  almost 
broke  down  the  other  night  in  that  lovely  song  of  Jensen's — and 
that  a  Winter  in  the  south  is  just  what  I  want.  But,  of  course, 
dear  grandmother,  I  won't  ask  you  to  let  me  be  away  so  long  if 
you  think  you  will  miss  me." 

"  If  I  think  I  shall  miss  her !  "  repeated  Lady  Maulevrier. 
"  Has  the  girl  no  heart  that  she  can  ask  such  a  question  t  But 
can  I  wonder  at  that  ?  Of  what  account  was  I  or  my  love  to 
her  father,  although  I  sacrificed  myself  for  his  good  name  ?  Can 
I  expect  that  she  should  be  of  a  different  clay  1 " 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE,  1 1 3 

Ana  then,  meditating  upon  the  events  of  the  Summer  that 
was  gone,  Lady  Maulevrier  thought — 

"  She  renounced  her  first  lover  at  my  bidding ;  she  renounces 
her  love  for  me  at  the  bidduig  of  the  world.  Or  was  it  not 
rather  self-interest,  the  fear  of  making  a  bad  marriage,  which 
influenced  her  in  her  renunciation  of  Mr.  Hammond }  It  was 
not  obedience  to  me,  it  was  not  love  to  me  which  made  her  give 
him  up.  It  was  the  selfishness  engrained  in  her  race.  Well,  I 
have  heaped  my  love  upon  her  because  she  is  fair  and  sweet, 
and  reminds  me  of  my  own  youth.  I  must  let  her  go  and  try 
to  be  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  she  is  enjoying  her  life  far 
away  from  me." 

Lady  Maulevrier  wrote  her  consent  to  the  extension  of  Les« 
bia's  visit,  and  by  return  of  post  came  a  letter  from  Lesbia 
which  seemed  brimming  over  with  love  and  which  comforted 
the  grandmother's  wounded  heart. 

"Lady  Kirkbank  and  I  are  both  agreed,  dearest,  that  you 
must  join  us  at  Cannes,"  wrote  Lesbia.  "  At  your  age  it  is  very 
wrong  of  3'ou  to  spend  a  Winter  in  our  horrible  climate.  You 
can  travel  with  Steadman  and  your  maid.  Lady  Kirkbank  will 
secure  you  a  charming  suite  of  rooms  at  the  hotel,  or  she  would 
like  it  still  better  if  you  would  stay  at  her  own  villa.  Do  con- 
sent to  this  plan,  dear  grandmother,  and  then  we  should  not  be 
parted  for  a  long  Winter.  Of  course  Mary  would  be  quite  happy 
at  home  running  wild." 

Lady  Maulevrier  sighed  as  she  read  this  letter,  sighed  again, 
and  heavily,  as  she  put  it  back  into  the  envelope.  Alas,  how 
many  and  many  a  year  had  gone,  long,  monotonous,  colorless 
years,  since  she  had  seen  that  bright  southern  world  which  she 
was  now  urged  to  revisit.  In  fancy  she  saw  it  again  to-day,  the 
tideless  sea  of  deepest  sapphire  blue,  the  little  wavelets  break- 
ing on  a  yellow  beach,  the  white  triangular  sails,  the  woods  full 
of  asphodel  and  great  purple  and  white  lilies,  the  atmosphere 
steeped  in  warmth  and  light  and  perfume,  the  glare  of  white 
houses  in  the  sun,  the  red  and  yellow  blinds,  the  pots  of  green 
and  orange  and  crimson  clay,  with  oleanders  abloom,  the  won- 
derful glow  of  color  everj^where  and  upon  all  things.  And  then 
as  the  eyes  of  the  mind  recalled  these  vivid  images  her  bodily 
eyes  looked  out  upon  the  rain-blotted  scene,  the  mountains  ris- 
ing in  a  dark  and  dismal  circle  round  that  somber  pool  below, 
walling  her  in  from  the  outer  world. 

"  I  am  at  the  bottom  of  a  grave,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  am 
in  a  living  tomb,  from  which  there  is  no  escape.     Forty  years  ! 


1 1 4  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Forty  years  of  patience  and  hope,  for  what  ?  For  dreams  which 
may  never  be  realized ;  for  descendants  who  may  never  give  me 
the  price  of  my  labors.  Yes,  I  should  like  to  go  to  my  dear 
one.  I  should  like  to  revisit  the  south  of  France,  to  go  on  to 
Italy.  I  should  feel  young  again  amidst  that  eternal,  unchange- 
able loveliness.  I  should  forget  all  I  have  suffered.  But  it  can- 
not be.     Not  yet,  not  yet !  " 

Presently  with  a  smile  of  concentrated  bitterness  she  repeated 
the  words,  "  Not  yet !  " 

"  Surely  at  my  age  it  must  be  folly  to  dream  of  a  future,  and 
yet  I  feel  as  if  there  were  half  a  centur}^  of  life  in  me,  as  if  I 
had  lost  nothing  in  either  mental  or  bodily  vigor  since  I  came 
here  forty  years  ago."  She  rose  as  she  said  these  words,  and 
began  to  pace  the  room,  with  quiet,  firm  step,  erect,  stately, 
beautiful  in  her  advanced  years  as  she  had  been  in  her  bloom 
and  freshness,  only  with  another  kind  of  beauty — an  empress 
among  women.  The  boast  that  she  had  made  to  herself  was  no 
idle  boast.  At  sixty-seven  years  of  age  her  physical  powers 
showed  no  signs  of  decay,  her  mental  qualities  were  at  their 
best  and  brightest.  Long  years  of  thought  and  study  had 
ripened  and  widened  her  mind.  She  was  a  woman  fit  to  be  the 
friend  and  counselor  of  statesmen,  the  companion  and  confi- 
dante of  her  sovereign ;  and  yet  fate  willed  that  she  should  be 
buried  alive  in  a  Westmoreland  valley,  seeing  the  same  hills  and 
streams,  the  same  rustic  faces,  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end.  Surely  it  was  a  hard  fate,  a  heavy  penance,  albeit  self- 
imposed. 


Lesbia  went  straight  from  Scotland  to  Paris  with  Sir  George 
and  Lady  Kirkbank.  Here  they  stayed  at  the  Bristol  for  just 
two  days,  during  which  her  hostess  went  all  over  the  fashionable 
quarter  buying  clothes  for  the  Cannes  campaign,  and  assisting 
Lesbia  to  spend  the  hundred  pounds  which  her  grandmother 
had  sent  her  for  the  replenishment  of  her  well-provided  ward- 
robe. It  is  astonishing  what  a  little  way  a  hundred  pounds  goes 
among  the  dressmakers,  corsetmakers  and  shoemakers  of  Lu- 
tetia. 

"  I  had  no  notion  that  clothes  were  so  dear,"  said  Lesbia, 
when  she  saw  how  little  she  had  got  for  her  money. 

"  My  dear,  you  have  two  gowns  which  are  absolutely  chien," 
replied  Lady  Kirkbank,  "  and  3'ou  have  a  corset  which  gives  you 
a  figure,  which  3'ou  must  forgive  me  for  saying  you  never  had 
before."' 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 1 5 

Lady  Kirkbank  had  to  explain  that  chien  as  applied  to  a  gown 
or  bonnet  was  the  same  thing  as  chic,  only  a  little  more  so. 

"  I  hope  my  gowns  will  always  be  chien,"  said  Lesbia 
meekly. 

Next  evening  they  were  dining  at  Cannes,  with  the  blue  sea 
in  front  of  their  windows,  dining  at  a  table  all  abloom  with 
orange  flowers,  tea  roses,  mignonette,  waxen  camelias  and  pale 
Parma  violets,  while  Lady  Maulevrier  and  Mary  dined  tete  a 
tete  at  Fellside,  with  the  feathery  snowflakes  falling  outside, 
and  the  world  whitening  all  around  them. 

Next  day  the  world  was  all  white,  and  Mary's  beloved  hills 
were  inaccessible. 

Who  could  tell  how  long  they  might  be  covered  ;  the  winding 
tracks  hidden ;  the  narrow  fences  looking  like  black  water  or 
molten  iron  against  that  glittering  whiteness.  Mary  could  only 
walk  along  the  road  by  Loughrigg  to  the  bench  called  "  Rest 
and  be  Thankful,"  from  which  she  looked  with  longing  eyes 
across  toward  the  Langdale  Pikes,  and  to  the  sharp  cone- 
shaped  peak,  known  as  Coniston  Old  Man,  just  visible  above 
the  nearer  hills. 

Fraulein  Kirsch  suggested  that  it  was  in  just  such  weather  as 
this  that  a  well-brought-up  young  lady,  a  young  lady  with 
Vernunf  t  and  Anstand,  should  devote  herself  to  the  improvement 
of  her  mind. 

"  Let  us  read  German  this  abscheulich  afternoon,"  said  Frau- 
lein.    "  Suppose  we  go  on  with  the  '  Sorrows  of  Werter.'  " 

"  Werter  was  a  fool,"  cried  Mary ;  ''  any  book  but  that." 

"  Will  you  choose  your  own  book  ?  " 

"  Let  me  read  Heine." 

Fraulein  looked  doubtful.  There  were  things  in  Heine — an 
all  pervading  tone — which  rendered  him  hardly  an  appropriate 
poet  for  "  the  young  person."  But  Miss  Kirsch  compromised 
the  matter  by  letting  Mary  read  Atta  Troll,  the  exact  bearing  of 
which  neither  of  them  understood. 

"  How  beautifully  Mr.  Hammond  read  Heine  that  morning," 
said  Mary,  breaking  off  suddenly  from  a  perfectly  automatic 
reading. 

"  You  did  not  hear  him,  did  you  ?  You  were  not  there,"  said 
the  Fraulein. 

*•  I  was  not  there,  but  I  heard  him.  I — I  was  sitting  on  the 
bank  among  the  pine-trees." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  and  sit  with  us  ?  It  would  have 
been  more  ladylike  than  to  hide  yourself  behind  the  trees." 

Mary  blushed  crimson. 


ii6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  I  had  been  in  the  kennels  with  Maulevrier — I  was  not  fit  to 
be  seen,"  she  said. 

"  Hardly  a  ladylike  admission,"  replied  Fraulein  Kirsch,  who 
felt  that  with  Lady  Mary  her  chief  duty  was  to  reprove. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  OF  ALL  MEN  ELSE  I  HAVE  AVOIDED  THEE." 

It  was  afternoon.  The  white  hills  yonder  and  all  the  length 
of  the  valley  were  touched  here  and  there  with  gleams  of  wintry 
sunlight,  and  Lady  Maulevrier  was  taking  her  solitary  walk  on 
the  terrace  in  front  of  her  house,  a  stately  figure  wrapped  in  a 
furred  mantle,  tall,  erect,  moving  with  measured  pace  up  and 
down  the  smooth  gravel  path.  Now  and  then  at  the  end  of  the 
walk  the  dowager  stopped  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  stood  as  if  in 
deep  thought,  with  her  eyes  dreamily  contemplating  the  land- 
scape. An  intense  melancholy  shadowed  her  face,  as  she  thus 
gazed  with  brooding  eyes  on  the  naked  monotony  of  those  win- 
try hills.  So  had  she  looked  in  many  and  many  a  Winter, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  life  was  of  a  piece  with  those 
bleak  hills,  where  in  the  dismal  Winter  time  nothing  living  trod. 
She  stood  gazing  at  the  sinking  sun,  a  fiery  ball  shining  at  the 
end  of  a  long  gallery  of  crag  and  rock,  like  a  lamp  at  the  end 
of  a  corridor  ;  and  as  she  gazed  the  red  round  orb  dropped  sud- 
denly behind  the  edge  of  a  crag,  as  if  she  had  been  an  enchant- 
ress and  had  dismissed  it  with  a  wave  of  her  wand. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  how  long,  how  long  !  "  she  said.  "  How  many 
tunes  have  I  seen  that  sun  go  down  from  this  spot,  in  Winter 
and  Summer,  in  Spring  and  Autumn  !  And  now  that  the  one 
being  I  loved  and  cared  for  is  far  away  I  feel  all  the  weariness 
and  emptiness  of  my  life." 

As  she  turned  to  resume  her  walk  she  heard  the  muffled  sound 
of  wheels  in  the  road  below,  that  road  which  was  completely 
hidden  by  foliage  in  Summer,  but  which  was  now  visible  here 
and  there  between  the  leafless  trees.  A  carriage  with  a  pair  of 
horses  was  coming  along  the  road  from  Ambleside. 

Lady  Maulevrier  stood  and  watched  until  the  carriage  drew 
up  at  the  lodge  gate,  and  then,  when  the  gate  had  been  opened, 
slowly  ascended  the  winding  drive  to  the  house. 

She  expected  no  visitor  ;  indeed,  there  was  no  one  likely  to 
come  to  her  from  the  direction  of  Ambleside.     Her  heart  began 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


117 


to  beat  heavily  with  the  apprehension  of  coming  evil.  What 
kind  of  evil  she  knew  not.  Bad  news  about  her  granddaughter 
perhaps,  or  about  Maulevrier.  And  yet  that  could  hardly  be. 
Evil  tidings  of  that  kind  would  have  reached  her  by  telegram. 
Perhaps  it  was  Maulevrier  himself.  His  movements  were  gener- 
ally erratic. 

Lady  Maulevrier  hurried  back  to  the  house.  She  went  through 
the  conservatory,  where  the  warm  whiteness  of  azalia  and  spirea 
and  arum  hlies  contrasted  curiously  with  the  cold  white  snow 
out  of  doors,  to  the  hall,  where  a  stranger  was  standing  talking 
to  the  butler. 

He  was  a  man  of  foreign  appearance,  wearing  a  black  coat 
lined  with  sables  and  a  sable  cap,  which  he  removed  as  Lady 
Maulevrier  approached.  He  was  thin  and  small,  with  a  clear 
olive  complexion,  olive  inclining  to  pale  bronze,  sleek  raven 
hair  and  black  almond  eyes.  At  the  first  glance  Lady  Maule- 
vrier knew  he  was  an  Oriental.  Her  heart  sank  within  her,  and 
seemed  to  grow  chill  as  death  at  sight  of  him.  Anything 
associated  with  India  was  horrible  to  her. 

The  stranger  came  forward  to  meet  her,  bowing  deferentially. 
He  had  those  lithe,  gliding  movements  which  she  remembered 
of  old,  when  she  had  seen  the  princes  and  dignitaries  of  the 
East  creeping  shoeless  to  her  husband's  feet. 

"  Will  your  Ladyship  do  me  the  honor  to  grant  me  an  inter- 
view ?  "  he  said,  in  very  good  English.  "  I  have  traveled  from 
London  expressly  for  that  privilege." 

"  Then  I  fear  you  have  wasted  time,  sir,  whatever  your  mis- 
sion may  be,"  the  Dowager  answered  haughtily.  "  However,  I 
am  willing  to  hear  anything  you  may  have  to  say,  if  you  will  be 
good  enough  to  come  this  way." 

She  moved  toward  the  library,  the  butler  preceding  her  to 
open  the  door,  and  the  stranger  followed  her  into  the  spacious 
room,  where  coals  and  logs  were  heaped  high  upon  the  wide  dog 
stove,  deeply  recessed  beneath  the  old  English  mantelpiece. 

It  was  one  of  the  handsomest  rooms  of  the  house,  furnished 
with  oak  book-cases  about  seven  feet  high,  above  which  vases 
of  Oriental  ware  and  coloring  stood  boldly  ouf  against  the  dark 
oak  wall.  Richly  bound  books  in  infinite  variety  testified  to  the 
wealth  and  taste  of  the  owner,  while  one  side  of  the  room  was 
absorbed  by  a  wide  Gothic  window,  beyond  which  appeared  the 
panorama  of  lake  and  mountain,  beautiful  in  every  season.  A 
tawny  velvet  curtain  divided  this  room  from  the  drawing-room  ; 
but  there  was  also  a  strong  oak  door  behind  the  curtain,  which 
was  generally  closed  in  cold  weather. 


Ii8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Lady  Maulevrier  went  over  to  this  door,  and  took  the  precau- 
tion to  draw  the  bolt  before  she  seated  herself  in  her  arm-chair 
by  the  hearth.  She  had  her  own  particular  chair  in  all  the 
rooms  she  occupied — a  chair  which  was  sacred  as  a  throne. 

She  drew  off  her  sealskin  glove  and  motioned  with  her  slen- 
der white  hand  to  the  stranger  to  be  seated. 

"  To  whom  have  I  the  honor  of  speaking?  "  she  asked,  look- 
ing him  through  and  through  with  an  unflinching  gaze,  as  she 
would  have  looked  at  Death  himself  had  the  grim  skeleton  fig- 
ure come  to  beckon  her. 

He  quietly  handed  her  a  visiting  card  on  which  was  engraved — 

"  Louis  Asaph,  Rajah  of  Bisnagar." 

"  If  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me  as  to  the  history  of 
modern  India,  the  territory  from  which  you  take  your  title  has 
been  absorbed  into  the  English  dominion,"  said  Lady  Maule- 
vrier. 

"  It  was  trafficked  away  forty-three  years  ago,  stolen,  filched 
from  my  father,  and  so  long  as  I  have  power  to  think  and  to  act 
I  will  maintain  my  claim  to  that  land  ;  yes,  if  only  by  the  empty 
mockery  of  a  name  on  a  visiting  card.  It  is  a  duty  I  owe  to 
myself  as  a  man,  which  I  owe  still  more  to  my  murdered  father." 

'"  Have  you  come  all  the  way  from  London,  and  in  such 
weather,  only  to  tell  me  this  story  ?  " 

She  had  twisted  his  card  between  her  fingers  as  she  listened 
to  him,  and  now  with  an  action  at  once  careless  and  contempt- 
uous she  flung  it  upon  the  burning  logs.  Slight  as  the  action 
was  it  was  eloquent  of  scorn  for  the  man. 

"  No,  Lady  Maulevrier,  my  mention  of  this  story,  with  which 
you  are  no  doubt  perfectly  familiar,  is  only  a  preliminary.  I 
have  come  to  claim  my  own,  and  to  appeal  to  you  as  a  woman  of 
honor  to  do  me  justice.  Nay,  I  will  say  as  a  woman  of  common 
honesty  ;  since  there  is  no  point  of  honor  in  question,  only  the 
plain  laws  of  mine  and  thine,  which  I  believe  are  the  same  laws 
among  all  nations  and  creeds.  I  come  to  you.  Lady  Maule- 
vrier, to  ask  you  to  restore  to  me  the  wealth  which  your  husband 
stole  from  my  father." 

"  You  come  to  my  house,  to  me,  an  old  woman,  helpless,  de- 
fenseless, in  the  absence  of  my  grandson,  the  present  Earl,  to 
insult  me,  and  to  insult  the  dead,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  white 
as  statuary  marble,  and  as  cold  and  calm.  "  You  come  to  rake 
up  old  lies,  and  to  fling  them  in  the  face  of  a  solitary  woman, 
old  enough  to  be  your  mother.  Do  you  think  that  is  a  noble 
thing  to  do  ?  Even  in  your  barbarous  Eastern  code  of  morals 
and  manners,  is  that  the  act  of  a  gentleman  ?  " 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 19 

"  We  are  not  barbarians  in  the  East,  Lady  Maulevrier.  I  come 
from  the  cradle  of  civilization,  the  original  fount  of  learning. 
We  were  scholars  and  gentlemen,  priests  and  soldiers,  two  thou- 
sand years  before  your  British  ancestors  ran  wild  in  their  woods, 
and  sacrificed  to  their  unknown  gods  on  rocky  altars  reeking 
with  human  blood.  I  know  the  errand  upon  which  I  have  come 
is  not  a  pleasant  one,  either  for  you  or  for  me;  but  I  come  to 
you  strong  in  the  right  of  a  son  to  claim  the  heritage  which  was 
stolen  from  him  by  an  infamous  mother  and  her  more  infamous 
paramour — " 

"  I  will  not  hear  another  word,"  cried  Lady  Maulevrier,  start- 
ing to  her  feet,  livid  with  passion.  "  Do  not  dare  to  pronounce 
that  name  in  my  hearing — the  name  of  that  abominable  woman 
who  brought  disgrace  and  dishonor  upon  my  husband  and  his 
race." 

"  And  who  brought  your  husband  the  wealth  of  my  murdered 
father,"  answered  the  Indian,  defiantly.  "  Do  not  ignore  that 
fact,  Lady  Maulevrier.  What  has  become  of  that  fortune — two 
hundred  thousand  pounds  in  money  and  jewels  ?  It  was  known 
to  have  passed  into  Lord  Maulevrier's  possession  after  my  father 
was  put  away  by  his  paid  instruments." 

"  How  dare  you  bring  that  vile  charge  against  the  dead  ?  " 

"  There  are  men  living  in  India  who  know  the  truth  of  that 
charge,  men  who  were  at  Bisnagar  when  my  father,  sick  and 
heart-broken,  was  shut  up  in  his  deserted  harem,  hemmed  in  by 
spies  and  traitors,  men  with  murder  in  their  faces.  There  are 
those  who  know  that  he  was  strangled  by  one  of  those  wretches, 
that  a  grave  was  dug  for  him  under  the  marble  floor  of  his  Ze- 
nana, a  grave  in  which  his  bones  were  found  less  than  a  year 
ago  in  my  presence,  and  fitly  entombed  at  my  bidding.  He 
was  said  to  have  disappeared  of  his  own  free  will — to  have  left 
his  palace  under  cover  of  night,  and  sought  refuge  from  possible 
treachery  in  another  province  ;  but  there  were  those,  and  not  a 
few,  who  know  the  real  history  of  his  disappearance — who  knew, 
and  at  the  time  were  ready  to  testify  in  any  court  of  justice,  that 
he  had  been  got  rid  of  by  the  Ranee's  agents,  and  at  Lord 
Maulevrier's  instigation,  and  that  his  possessions  in  money  and 
jewels  had  been  conveyed  in  the  palankins  that  carried  the  Ra- 
nee's women  to  his  Lordship's  summer  retreat  near  Madras. 
Had  your  husband  lived,  Lady  Maulevrier,  this  story  must  have 
been  brought  to  light.  There  were  too  many  people  in  Madras 
interested  in  sifting  the  facts.  There  must  have  been  a  public 
inquiry.  It  was  a  happy  thing  for  you  and  your  race  that  Lord 
Maulevrier  died  before  that  inquiry  had  been  instituted,  and  that 


I20  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

many  animosities  died  with  him.  Lucky  too  for  3-011  that  I  was 
a  helpless  infant  at  that  time,  and  that  the  Manratta  adventurer 
to  whom  my  father's  territory  had  been  transferred  in  the  shuf- 
fling of  cards  at  the  end  of  the  war  was  deeply  concerned  in 
hushing  up  the  story." 

"  And  pray,  why  have  you  nursed  your  wrath  in  all  these 
years  ?  Why  do  you  intrude  upon  me  after  nearly  half  a  cen- 
tury with  this  legend  of  rapine  and  murder  1  " 

"  Because  for  nearly  half  a  century  I  have  been  kept  in  pro- 
found ignorance  of  my  father's  fate — in  ignorance  of  my  race. 
Lord  Maulevrier's  jealousy  banished  me  from  my  mother's  arms 
shortly  after  my  father's  death.  I  was  sent  to  the  south  of 
France  under  the  care  of  an  Aryah.  My  first  memories  are  of 
a  monastery  near  Marseilles,  where  I  was  reared  and  educated 
by  a  Jesuit  community,  where  I  was  baptized  and  brought  up  in 
the  Roman  Catholic  faith.  By  their  influence  I  was  placed  in  a 
house  of  commerce  at  Marseilles.  Funds  to  provide  for  my  ed- 
ucation and  establishment  in  life,  under  very  modest  conditions, 
were  sent  periodically  by  an  agent  at  Madras.  It  was  known 
that  I  was  of  East  Indian  birth,  but  little  more  was  known  about 
me.  It  was  only  when  years  had  gone  by  and  I  was  a  merchant 
on  my  own  account  and  could  afford  to  go  to  India  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery — yes,  as  much  a  voyage  of  discovery  as  that  of  Vas- 
co  de  Gama  or  of  Drake — that  I  got  from  rhe  Madras  agent  the 
clue  which  enabled  me  at  the  cost  of  infinite  patience  and  infi- 
nite labor  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  my  birth.  There  is  no  need 
to  enter  now  upon  the  details  of  that  story.  I  have  over\thelm- 
mg  documentary  evidence — a  cloud  of  witnesses — to  convince 
the  most  skeptical  as  to  who  and  what  I  am.  The  documents 
are  some  of  them  in  my  valise,  at  your  Ladyship's  service.  Others 
are  at  my  hotel  in  London  ready  for  the  inspection  of  your  Lady- 
ship's lawyers.  I  do  not  think  you  will  desire  to  invite  a  public 
inquiry,  or  force  me  to  recover  my  birthright  in  a  court  of  justice. 
I  believe  that  you  will  take  a  broader  and  nobler  view  of  the  case, 
and  that  you  will  restore  to  the  wronged  and  abandoned  son  the 
fortune  stolen  from  his  murdered  father." 

"  Ho\v  dare  you  come  to  me  with  this  tissue  of  lies  ?  How 
dare  you  look  me  in  the  face  and  charge  my  dead  husband  with 
treachery  and  dishonor  ?  I  believe  neither  in  your  story  nor  in 
you,  and  I  defv  you  to  the  proof  of  this  vile  charge  against  the 
dead." 

"  In  other  words,  you  mean  that  you  will  keep  the  money  and 
jewels  that  Lord  Maulevrier  stole  from  my  father  ?  " 

"  I  deny  the  fact  that  any  such  jewels  or  money  ever  passed 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 21 

into  my  Lordship's  possession.  That  vile  woman,  your  mother, 
whose  infamy  cast  a  dark  cloud  over  Lord  Maulevrier's  honor, 
may  have  robbed  her  husband,  may  have  emptied  the  public 
treasury.  I  will  not  bear  the  burden  of  her  crimes.  Her  exist- 
ence spoiled  my  life — banished  me  from  India,  a  widow  in  all 
but  the  name,  and  more  desolate  than  many  widows." 

"  Lord  Maulevrier  was  known  to  leave  India  carrying  with 
him  two  large  chests — supposed  to  contain  books — but  actually 
containing  treasure.  The  books  collected  together  to  be  packed 
in  those  two  chests — supposed  at  the  time  to  have  been  packed 
in  them — were  found  years  afterward  in  a  closet  at  the  Govern- 
ment House.  A  man  who  was  in  the  Governor's  confidence,  and 
who  had  been  the  go-between  in  his  intrigues,  confessed  on  his 
death-bed  that  he  had  assisted  in  removing  the  treasure.  Now, 
Lady  Maulevrier,  since  your  husband  died  immediately  after  his 
arrival  in  England,  and  before  he  could  have  had  any  opportu- 
nity of  converting  or  making  away  with  the  valuables  so  appro- 
priated, it  stands  to  reason  that  those  valuables  must  have  passed 
into  your  possession,  and  it  is  from  your  honor  and  good  feeling 
that  I  claim  their  restitution.  If  you  deny  the  claim  so  advanced, 
there  remains  but  one  course  open  to  me,  and  that  is  to  make 
my  wrongs  public,  and  claim  my  right  from  the  law  of  the  land.'* 

"  And  do  you  suppose  that  any  English  judge  or  any  English 
jury  will  believe  so  wild  a  story,  or  countenance  so  vile  an  accu- 
sation against  the  defenseless  dead?"  demanded  Lady  Maule- 
vrier, standing  up  before  him,  tall,  stately,  with  flashing  eye  and 
scornful  lip,  the  image  of  proud  defiance.  "  Bring  forward  your 
claim,  produce  your  documents,  your  witnesses,  your  death-bed 
confessions.  I  defy  you  to  injure  my  dead  husband  or  me  by 
your  wild  lies,  your' foul  charges.  Go  to  an  English  lawyer,  and 
see  what  an  English  law  court  will  do  for  you  and  your  claim. 
I  will  hear  no  more  of  .either." 

She  rang  the  bell,  once,  twice,  thrice,  with  passionate  hand, 
a  servant  flew  to  answer  that  impatient  summons  : 

"  Show  this  gentleman  to  his  carriage  instantly,"  she  said  im- 
periously. 

The  gentleman  who  called  himself  Louis  Asaph  bowled  and 
retired  without  another  word. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Lady  Maulevrier  stood,  with 
clenched  hands  and  frowning  brow,  staring  into  vacancy.  Her 
right  arm  was  outstretched,  as  if  she  would  have  waved  the  in- 
truder away  with  it.  Suddenly,  a  strange  numbness  crept  over 
that  uplifted  arm,  and  it  sank  helpless  at  her  side.  From  her 
shoulder  down  to  her  foot,  that  proud  form  grew  cold  and  feeling* 


1 2 2  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

less  and  dead,  and  she,  who  had  so  long  carried  herself  as  a 
queen  among  women,  Sc       in  a  senseless  heap  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  HEr.  FACE  RESIGNED  TO  BLISS  OR  BALE." 

Lady  Mary  and  the  Fraulein  had  been  sitting  in  the  drawing- 
room  all  this  time  waiting  for  Lady  Maulevrier  to  come  in  to  tea. 
They  heard  her  come  in  trom  the  garden  ;  and  then  the  foot- 
man told  them  that  she  was  in  the  library  with  a  stranger.  Not 
even  the  muffled  sound  of  voices  penetrated  th2  heavy  velvet 
curtain  and  the  thick  oak  door.  It  was  only  by  the  loud  ring- 
ing of  the  bell  and  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  hall  that  Lady 
Mary  knew  of  the  guest's  departure.  She  went  to  the  door  be- 
tween the  two  rooms,  and  was  surprised  to  find  it  bolted. 

"  Grandmamma,  won't  you  come  to  tea }  "  she  asked  timidly, 
knocking  at  the  oaken  panel,  but  there  was  no  reply. 

She  knocked  again,  and  louder.     Still  no  reply. 

"  Perhaps  her  Ladyship  is  going  to  take  tea  in  her  own  room," 
she  said,  afraid  to  be  officious. 

Attendance  upon  her  grandmother  at  afternoon  tea  had  been 
one  of  Lesbia's  particular  duties ;  but  Mary  felt  that  she  was 
an  unwelcome  substitute  for  Lesbia.  She  wanted  to  get  a  little 
nearer  her  grandmother's  heart  if  she  could  ;  but  she  knew  that 
her  attentions  were  endured  rather  than  liked. 

She  went  into  the  hall,  where  the  footman  on  duty  was  star- 
ing at  the  light  snowflakes  dancing  past  the  window,  perhaps 
wishing  he  were  a  snowflake  himself  and  enjoying  himself  in 
that  white  whirligig. 

"  Is  her  Ladyship  having  tea  in  the  morning-room  ?  "  asked 
Mary. 

The  footman  gave  a  little  start,  as  if  awakened  out  of  a  kind 
of  trance.  The  sheer  vacuity  of  his  mind  might  naturally  slide 
into  mesmeric  sleep. 

He  told  Lady  Mary  that  her  Ladyship  had  not  left  the  library, 
and  Mary  went  in  timidly,  wondering  why  her  grandmother  had 
not  joined  them  in  the  drawing-room  when  the  stranger  was 
gone. 

The  sky  was  dark  outside  the  wide  windows,  white  hills  and 
valleys  shrouded  with  the  shades  of  night.  The  librar}'  was 
only  lighted  by  the  red  glow  of  the   logs  on  the  hearth,  and  in 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 23 

that  ruddy  light  the  spacious  room  looked  empty.  Mary  was 
turning  to  go  away,  thinking  the  footman  had  been  mistaken, 
when  her  eye  -suddenly  lighted  upon  a  dark  figure  lying  on 
the  ground.  And  then  she  heard  an  awful  stertorous  breathing, 
andlcnew  that  her  grandmother  was  lying  there,  stricken  and 
helpless. 

Mary  shrieked  aloud,  with  a  cry  that  pierced  curtams  and 
doors,  and  brought  Fraulein  and  half  a  dozen  servants  to  her 
help. '  One  of  the  men  brought  a  lamp,  and  among  them  they 
lifted  the  smitten  figure.  Oh,  God  !  how  ghastly  the  face  looked 
in  the  lamplight— the  features  drawn  to  one  side,  the  skin  livid. 

"  Her  Ladyship  has  had  a  stroke,"  said  the  butler. 

"  Is  she  dying  ? "  faltered  Mary,  white  as  ashes.  "  Oh,  grand- 
mamma, dear  grandmamma,  don't  look  at  us  like  that !  " 

One  of  the  servants  rushed  off  to  the  stables  to  send  for  the 
doctor.  Of  course,  being  an  indoor  man,  he  no  more  thought  of 
going  out  himself  into  the  snowy  night  on  such  an  errand  than 
Noah  thought  of  going  out  of  the  ark  to  make  his  discoveries  of 
drv  land  in  person. 

They  carried  the  Countess  to  her  bed  and  laid  her  there, 
like  a  figure  carved  out  of  stone.  She  was  not  unconscious. 
Her  eyes  were  open,  and  she  moaned  every  now  and  then  as  if 
in  bodily  and  mental  pain.  Once  she  tried  to  speak,  but  hadno 
power  to  shape  a  syllable  aright,  and  ended  with  a  shuddering 
sigh.  Once  she  lifted  her  left  arm  and  waved  it  in  the  air,  as 
if  waving  some  one  off  in  fear  or  anger.  The  right  arm,  indeed 
the  whole  of  the  right  side,  was  lifeless,  motionless  as  a  stone. 
It  was  a  piteous  sight  to  see  the  beautiful  features  drawn  and 
distorted,  the  lips  so  accustomed  to  command  mouthing  the 
broken  syllables  of  an  unknown  tongue.  Lady  Mary  sat  beside 
the  bed  with  clasped  hands,  praying  dumbly,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  her  grandmother's  altered  face. 

Mr.  Horton  came,  as  soon  as  his  stout  mountain  pony  could 
bring  him.  He  did  not  seem  surprised  at  her  Ladyship's  condi- 
tion, and  accepted  the  situation  with  professional  calmness. 

"A  marked' case  of  hemiplegia,"  he  said,  when  he  had  ob- 
served the  symptoms. 

"  Will  she  die  ?  "    asked  Mary. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  She  will  want  great  care  for  a  little  while, 
but  we  shall  bring  her  round  easily.  A  splendid  constitution,  a 
noble  frame,  but  I  think  she  has  overworked  her  brain  a  httle, 
reading  Huxley  and  Darwin  and  the  German  physiologists  upon 
whom  Huxley  and  Darwin  have  built  themselves ;  metaphysics, 
too.     A  wonderful  woman.     Very  few  brains  could  hold  what 


124  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

hers  has  had  poured  into  it  in  the  last  thirty  years.  The  con- 
ducting nerves  between  the  brain  and  the  spinal  marrow  have 
been  overworked  ;  too  much  activity,  too  constant  a  strain. 
Even  the  rails  and  sleepers  on  the  railroad  wear  out,  don't  you 
know,  if  there's  excessive  traffic." 

Mr.  Horton  had  known  Mary  from  her  childhood,  had  given 
her  Gregory's  powder,  had  seen  her  safely  through  measles  and 
other  infantine  ailments,  so  he  was  quite  at  home  with  her,  and 
at  Fellside  generally.  Lady  Maulevrier  had  given  him  a  good 
deal  of  her  confidence  during  those  thirty  years  in  which  he 
had  practiced  as  his  farther's  partner  and  successor  at  Grasmere. 
He  used  to  tell  people  that  he  owed  a  good  deal  of  his  educa- 
tion to  her  Ladyship,  who  condescended  to  talk  to  him  of  the  new 
books  she  read,  and  generally  gave  him  a  volume  to  put  in  his 
pocket  when  he  was  leaving  her. 

"  Don't  be  down-hearted.  Lady  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  come 
in  two  or  three  times  a  day  and  see  how  things  are  gomg  on, 
and  if  I  see  the  slightest  difficulty  in  the  case  I'll  telegraph  in- 
stanter  for  Jenner." 

Mary  and  the  Fraulein  sat  up  with  the  invalid  all  that  night. 
Lady  Maulevrier's  maid  was  also  in  attendance,  and  one  of  the 
men-servants  slept  in  his  clothes  on  a  couch  in  the  corridor,  ready 
for  any  emergency.  But  the  night  passed  peacefully,  the  pa- 
tient slept  a  good  deal,  and  next  day  there  was  evident  improve- 
ment. 

The  stroke  which  had  prostrated  the  body,  which  reduced  the 
vigorous,  active  frame  to  an  awful,  statue-like  stillness — a  quie- 
tude as  of  death  itself — had  not  overclouded  the  intellect.  Lady 
Maulevrier  lay  on  her  bed  in  the  spacious,  luxurious  room,  with 
wide  Tudor  windows  commanding  half  the  circle  of  the  hills,  and 
w^as  still  the  ruling  spirit  of  the  house,  albeit  powerless  to  move 
the  slender  hand,  the  lightest  wave  of  which  had  been  as  potent 
to  command  in  her  little  world  as  royal  sign-manual  or  scepter 
in  the  great  world  outside. 

Now  there  remained  only  one  thing  unimpaired  by  that  awful 
shock  which  had  laid  the  stately  frame  low,  and  that  was  the 
will  and  sovereign  force  of  the  woman's  nature.  Voice  was  al- 
tered, speech  was  confused  and  difficult ;  but  the  strength  of 
w'ill,  the  supreme  power  of  mind,  seemed  undiminished. 

When  Lady  Maulevrier  was  asked  if  Lesbia  should  be  tele- 
graphed for,  she  replied  no,  not  unless  she  was  in  danger  of  sud- 
den death. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her  before  I  go,"  she  said,  laboring  to 
pronounce  the  words. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  125 

"  Dear  grandmother,"  said  Mary,  tenderly,  "  Mr.  Horton 
says  there  is  no  danger." 

"  Then  do  not  send  for  her,  do  not  even  tell  her  what  has 
happened  ;  not  yet." 

"  But  she  will  miss  your  letters." 

"  True.  You  must  write  twice  a  week  at  my  dictation.  You 
must  tell  her  that  I  have  hurt  my  hand,  that  I  am  well  but  can- 
not use  a  pen.     I  would  not  spoil  her  pleasure  for  the  world." 

"  Dear  grandmamma  how  unselfish  you  are  !  And  Maulevrier 
shall  be  sent  for  t  He  is  not  so  far  away,"  said  Mary,  hoping 
she  would  say  yes. 

What  a  relief,  what  an  unspeakable  solace  Maulevrier's  pres- 
ence would  be  in  that  dreary  house,  smitten  to  a  sudden  and 
awful  stillness  as  if  by  the  Angel  of  Death. 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  Maulevrier  !  "  answered  her  Ladyship, 
impatiently. 

"  May  1  sit  here  and  read  to  you,  grandmother  ?  "  Mary  asked, 
timidily.  "  Mr.  Horton  said  you  were  to  be  kept  very  quiet, 
and  that  we  w^ere  not  to  let  you  talk,  or  talk  much  to  you,  but 
that  we  might  read  to  you  if  you  like." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  read  to.  I  have  my  thought!  for  com- 
pany," said  Lady  Maulevrier. 

Mary  felt  that  this  implied  a  wish  to  be  alone.  She  bent  over 
the  invalid's  pillow  and  kissed  the  pale  cheek,  feeling  as  if  she 
were  taking  a  liberty  in  venturing  so  much.  She  would  hardly 
have  done  it  had  Lesbia  been  at  home  ;  but  she  had  a  feel- 
ing that  in  Lesbia's  absence  Lady  Maulevrier  must  want 
somebody's  love — even  hers.  And  then  she  crept  away,  leav- 
ing Halcott  the  maid  in  attendance,  sitting  at  her  work  at  the 
window  furthest  from  the  bed. 

"Alone  with  my  thoughts,"  mused  Lady  Maulevrier,  looking 
out  at  the  wintry  hills,  white,  ghost-like  against  a  leaden  sky, 
"  Pleasant  thoughts,  truly  !  Walled  in  by  the  hills — walled  in 
and  hemmed  round  forever.  This  place  has  always  felt  like  a 
grave  ;  and  now  I  know  that  it  is  my  grave." 


Miss  Kirsch,  and  Lady  Mary,  and  the  maid  Halcott,  a  sedate 
personage  of  forty  summers,  had  all  been  instructed  by  the 
doctor  that  Lady  Maulevrier  was  to  be  kept  profoundly  quiet. 
She  must  not  talk  much,  since  speech  was  likely  to  be  a  painful 
effort  with  her  for  some  little  time ;  she  must  not  be  talked  to 
much  by  any  one,  least  of  all  must  she  be  spoken  to  upon  any 
agitating  topic.     Life  must  be  mad©  as  smooth  and  easy  for  her 


126  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

as  a  newborn  infant.  No  rough  breath  from  the  outer  world 
mu6t  come  near  her.  She  was  to  see  no  one  but  her  maid  and 
her  granddaughter  ;  Mr.  Horton,  a  plain  family  man,  taking  it 
for  granted  that  the  granddaughter  was  dear  to  her  heart,  and 
likely  to  exercise  a  soothing  influence.  Thus  it  happened  that 
although  Lady  Maulevrier  asked  repeatedly  that  James  Si 
man  should  be  brought  to  her  she  was  not  allowed  to  ser 
She  whose  will  had  been  paramount  in  that  house,  whose  word 
had  been  law,  was  now  treated  as  a  little  child,  while  the  will 
was  still  as  strong,  the  mind  as  keen  as  ever. 

"  She  would  talk  to  him  of  business,"  said  Mr.  Horton,  when 
he  was  told  of  her  Ladyship's  desire  to  see  Steadman,  "  and  that 
cannot  be  allowed,  not  for  some  little  time  at  least." 

"  She  is  very  angry  with  us  for  refusing  to  obey  her,"  said 
Lady  Mary. 

"  Naturally,  but  it  is  for  her  own  welfare  she  is  disobeyed. 
She  can  have  nothing  to  say  to  Steadman  which  will  not  keep 
till  she  is  better.     This  establishment  goes  by  clockwork." 

Mary  wished  it  was  a  little  less  like  clockwork.  Since  Lady 
Maulevrier  has  been  lying  upstairs — the  voice  which  had  once 
ruled  over  the  house  muffled  almost  to  dumbness — the  monotony 
of  life  at  Fellside  had  seemed  all  the  more  oppressive.  The  serv- 
ants crept  about  with  stealthier  tread.  Mary  dared  not  touch 
either  piano  or  billiard  balls,  and  was  naturally  seized  with  a 
longing  to  touch  both.  The  house  had  a  darkened  look,  as  if 
the  shadow  of  doom  overhung  it. 

During  this  regimen  of  perfect  quiet  Lady  Maulevrier  was  not 
allowed  to  see  the  newspapers ;  and  Mary  was  warned  that  in 
reading  to  her  grandmother  she  was  to  avoid  all  exciting  topics. 
Thus  it  happened  that  the  account  of  a  terrible  collision  be- 
tween the  Scotch  express  and  a  luggage  train  a  little  way  beyond 
Preston,  an  accident  in  which  seven  people  were  killed  and 
about  thirty  seriously  hurt,  was  not  made  known  to  her  Ladyship  ; 
and  yet  that  fact  would  be  of  intense  interest  and  significance  to 
her. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


The  wintry  weeks  glided  smoothly  by  in  a  dull  monotony, 
and  now  Lady  Maulevrier,  still  helpless,  still  compelled  to  lie  on 
her  bed  or  her  invalid  couch,  motionless  as  marble,  had  at  least 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  127 

recovered  her  power  of  speech,  was  allowed  to  read  and  to  talk, 
and  to  hear  what  was  going  on  in  that  metropolitan  world  which 
she  seemed  unlikely  ever  to  behold  again. 

Lady  Lesbia  was  still  at  Cannes,  whence  she  wrote  of  her 
pleasures  and  her  triumphs,  of  flowers  and  sapphire  sea,  and  az- 
ur<M<y,  of  all  things  which  were  not  in  the  gray  bleak  mountain 
wof!§^hich  hemmed  in  Fellside.  She  was  meeting  many  of  the 
people  whom  she  was  to  meet  again  next  season  in  the  London 
world.  She  had  made  an  informal  debut  in  a  very  select  circle, 
a  circle  in  which  everybody  was  more  or  less  chic  or  chien,  and 
she  was  tasting  all  the  sweets  of  success.  But  in  none  of  her 
letters  was  there  any  mention  of  Lord  Hartfield.  He  was  not 
in  the  little  great  Vv^orld  by  the  blue  tideless  sea. 

There  was  no  talk  of  Lesbia's  return.  She  was  to  stay  till  the 
carnival,  she  was  to  stay  till  the  week  before  Easter.  Lady 
Kirkbank  insisted  upon  it,  and  both  Lesbia  and  Lady  Kirkbank 
upbraided  Lady  Maulevrier  for  her  cruelty  in  not  joining  them 
at  Cannes. 

So  Lady  Maulevrier  had  to  resign  herself  to  that  solitude 
which  had  become  almost  the  habit  of  her  life,  and  to  the  society 
of  Mary  and  the  Fraulein.  Mary  was  eager  to  be  of  use,  to  sit 
with  her  grandmother,  to  read  to  her,  to  write  for  her.  The 
warm  young  heart  was  deeply  moved  by  the  spectacle  of  this 
stately  woman  stricken  into  helplessness,  chained  to  her  couch, 
immured  within  four  walls.  To  Mary,  who  so  loved  the  hills  and 
streams,  the  sun  and  the  winds,  this  imprisonment  seemed  un- 
speakable woe.  In  her  pity  for  such  a  martyrdom  she  would 
have  done  anything  to  give  pleasure  or  solace  to  her  grandmother. 
Unhappily  there  was  very  little  Mary  could  do  to  increase  the  in- 
valid's sum  of  pleasure.  Lady  Maulevrier  was  a  woman  of 
strong  feeling,  not  capable  of  loving  many  people  She  had  con- 
centrated her  affection  upon  Lesbia,  and  she  could  not  open  her 
heart  to  Mary  all  at  once,  because  Lesbia  was  out  of  the  way. 

"  If  I  had  a  dog  I  loved,  and  he  w^ere  to  die,  I  would  never 
have  another  in  his  place,"  Lady  Maulevrier  said  once,  and  that 
speech  was  the  keynote  of  her  character. 

She  was  very  courteous  to  Mary,  and  seemed  grateful  for  her 
attentions  ;  but  she  did  not  cultivate  the  girl's  society.  Mary 
wrote  all  her  letters  in  a  fine  bold  hand,  and  with  a  rapid  pen ; 
but  when  the  letter  writing  was  over  Lady  Maulevrier  always 
dismissed  her. 

*'  My  dear,  you  want  to  be  out  in  the  air,  riding  your  pony,  or 
scampering  about  with  your  dogs,"  she  said,  kindly.  "  It  would 
be  a  cruelty  to  keep  you  indoors." 


1 28  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

"  No,  indeed,  dear  grandmamma,  I  should  like  to  stay.  May 
I  stop  and  read  to-  you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mary,  I  hate  being  read  to.  I  like  to  de- 
vour a  book.     Reading  is  such  slow  work." 

"But  I  am'  afraid  you  must  sometimes  feel  lonely,"  faltered 
Mary. 

"  Lonely,"  echoed  the  Dowager,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  have  been 
lonely  for  the  last  forty  years — I  have  been  lonely  all  my  life. 
Those  I  loved  never  gave  me  back  love  for  love — never — not 
even  your  sister.  See  how  lightly  she  cuts  the  link  that  bound 
her  to  me.  How  happy  she  is  among  strangers.  Yes,  there 
was  one  who  loved  me  truly,  and  fate  parted  us.  Does  fate  part 
all  true  lovers,  I  wonder?" 

"  You  parted  Lesbia  and  Mr.  Hammond,"  said  Mary,  impetu- 
ously.    *'  I  am  sure  they  loved  each  other  truly." 

''  The  old  and  the  worldly  wise  are  fate,  Mary,"  answered  the 
Dowager,  not  angry  at  this  daring  reproach.  "  I  know  your  sis- 
ter ;  and  I  know  she  is  not  the  kind  of  woman  to  be  happy  in 
an  ignoble  life — to  bear  poverty  and  deprivation.  If  it  had  been 
you,  now,  whom  Mr,  Hammond  had  chosen,  I  might  have  taken 
the  subject  into  my  consideration." 

Mary  flamed  crimson. 

"  Mr.  Hammond  never  gave  me  a  thought,"  she  said,  "  unless  it 
was  to  think  me  contemptible.  He  is  worlds  too  good  for  such 
a  tomboy.  Maulevrier  told  him  about  the  fox-hunt,  and  they 
both  laughed  at  me — at  least,  I  have  no  doubt  Mr.  Hammond 
laughed,  though  I  was  too  much  ashamed  to  look  at  him." 

"  Poor  Mary,  you  are  beginning  to  find  out  that  a  young  lady 
ought  to  be  lady-like,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier ;  "  and  now,  my 
dear,  you  may  go.  I  was  only  joking  with  you.  Mr.  Hammond 
would  be  no  match  for  any  granddaughter  of  mine.  He  is  no- 
body, and  has  neither  friends  nor  interest.  If  he  had  gone  into 
the  church  Maulevrier  could  have  helped  him ;  but  I  dare  say 
his  ideas  are  too  broad  for  the  church,  and  he  will  have  to  starve 
at  the  bar,  where  nobody  can  help  him.  I  hope  you  will  bear 
this  in  mind,  Mary,  if  Maulevrier  should  ever  bring  him  here." 

"  He  is  never  likely  to  come  back  again.  He  suffered  too 
much  ;  he  was  treated  too  badly  in  this  house." 

"  Lady  Mary,  be  good  enough  to  remember  to  whom  you  are 
speaking/'  said  her  Ladyship,  with  a  frown.  "  And  now  please 
go,  and  tell  some  one  to  send  Steadman  to  me." 

Mary  retired  without  a  word,  gave  Lady  Maulevrier's  message 
to  a  footman  in  the  corridor,  slipped  off  to  her  room,  put  on 
her  sealskin  hat  and  jacket,  took  her  staff  and  went  out  for  a 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  129 

long  ramble.  The  hills  and  valleys  were  still  white.  It  had 
been  a  long,  cold  Winter,  and  it  was'  not  half  over  yet — February 
had  only  just  begun. 

Lady  Maulevrier's  couch  had  been  wheeled  into  the  morning- 
room — that  luxurious  room  which  was  furnished  with  all  things 
needful  to  her  quiet  life — books,  her  favorite  flowers,  every 
detail  studiously  arranged  for  her  pleasure  and  comfort.  She 
was  wheeled  into  this  room  every  day  at  noon.  When  the  day 
was  hot  and  sunny  her  couch  was  placed  near  the  window ;  when 
the  day  was  dull  and  gray  the  couch  was  drawn  close  to  the  low 
hearth,  which  flashed  and  glittered  with  brightly  colored  tiles 
and  artistic  brass. 

To-day  the  sky  was  dull,  and  the  velvet  couch  stood  beside 
the  hearth.  Halcott  sat  at  work  in  an  adjoining  bed-chamber, 
and  came  in  every  now  and  then  to  replenish  the  fire  ;  a  footman 
was  always  on  duty  in  the  corridor.  A  spring-bell  stood  among 
the  elegant  trifles  upon  her  Ladyship's  table  and  the  lightest  touch 
of  her  left  hand  upon  the  bell  brought  her  attendants  to  her  side. 
She  resolutely  refused  to  have  any  one  sitting  with  her  all  day 
long.  Solitude  was  a  necessity  of  her  being,  she  told  Mr.  Hor- 
ton,  when  he  recommended  that  she  should  have  some  one  al- 
ways in  attendance  upon  her. 

As  the  weeks  wore  on  her  features  had  been  restored  to  their 
proud  calm  beauty,  her  articulation  was  almost  as  clear  as  of  old ; 
yet,  now  and  then,  there  would  be  a  sudden  faltering,  the  tongue 
and  lips  would  refuse  their  ofhce,  or  she  would  forget  a  word,  or 
use  a  wrong  word  unconsciously.  But  there  was  no  recovery  of 
power  and  movement  on  that  side  of  the  body  which  had  been 
stricken.  The  paralyzed  limbs  were  still  motionless,  lifeless  as 
marble ;  and  it  was  clear  that  Mr.  Horton  had  begun  to  lose 
heart  about  his  patient.  There  was  nothing  obscure  in  the  case, 
but  the  patient's  importance  made  the  treatment  a  serious  mat- 
ter, and  the  surgeon  begged  to  be  allowed  to  summon  Sir  Wil- 
liam Jenner.     This,  however,  Lady  Maulevrier  refused. 

"  I  don't  want  any  fuss  made  about  me,"  she  said.  *'  I  am 
content  to  trust  myself  to  your  skill,  and  I  beg  that  no  other 
doctor  may  be  summoned." 

Mr.  Horton  understood  his  patient's  feelings  on  this  point. 
She  had  a  sense  of  humiliation  in  her  helplessness,  and,  like  some 
wounded  animal  that  crawls  to  its  covert  to  die,  she  would  fain 
have  hidden  her  misery  from  the  eye  of  strangers.  She  had  al- 
lowed no  one,  not  even  Maulevrier,  to  be  informed  of  the  nature 
of  her  illness, 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  for  him  to  know  all  about  me  when 
9 


J30  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

he  comes  here,"  she  said.     "  I  shall  be  obliged  to  see  him  when- 
ever he  does  come." 

Maulevrier  had  spent  Christmas  and  New  Year  in  Paris,  Mr. 
Hammond  still  his  companion.  Her  Ladyship  commented  upon 
this  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"  Mr.  Hammond  is  like  the  Umbra  you  were  reading  about 
the  other  day  in  Lord  Lytton's  *  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,' "  she 
said  to  Mary.  "  It  must  be  very  nice  for  him  to  go  about  the 
world  with  a  triend  who  franks  him  everywhere." 

"  But  we  don't  know  that  Maulevrier  franks  him,"  protested 
Mary,  blushing.  "  We  have  no  right  to  suppose  that  Mr.  Ham- 
mond does  not  pay  his  own  expenses." 

"  My  dear  child,  is  it  possible  for  a  young  man  who  has  no 
private  means  to  go  gadding  about  the  world  on  equal  terms 
with  a  spendthrift  like  Maulevrier — to  pay  for  moors  in  Scot- 
land and  apartments  at  the  Bristol  ?  " 

"  But  they  are  not  staying  at  the  Bristol,"  exclaimed  Mary. 
"  They  are  staying  at  an  old-established  French  hotel  on  the 
left  side  of  the  Seine.  They  are  going  about  amongst  the  stu- 
dents and  the  workmen,  dining  at  popular  restaurants,  hearing 
people  talk.  Maulevrier  says  it  is  delightfully  amusing — ever 
so  much  better  than  the  beaten  track  of  life  in  Anglo-American 
Paris." 

"  I  dare  say  they  are  leading  a  Bohemian  life,  and  will  get 
into  trouble  before  they  have  done,"  said  her  Ladyship,  gloomily. 
"  Maulevrier  is  as  wild  as  a  hawk." 

"  He  is  the  dearest  boy  in  the  world,"  exclaimed  Mary. 

She  was  deeply  grateful  for  her  brother's  condescension  in  writ- 
ing her  a  letter  of  two  pages  long,  letting  her  into  the  secrets  of 
his  life.  She  felt  as  if  Mr.  Hammond  were  ever  so  much  nearer 
to  her,  now  she  knew  where  he  was  and  how  he  was  amusing 
himself. 

"  Hammond  is  such  a  queer  fellow,"  wrote  Maulevrier,  "  the 
strangest  things  interest  him.  He  sits  and  talks  to  the  work- 
men for  hours  ;  he  pokes  his  nose  into  all  sorts  of  places — hos- 
pitals, workshops,  poverty-stricken  dens — and  people  are  always 
civil  to  him.  He  is  what  Lesbia  calls  sympatico.  And  what  a 
mistake  Lesbia  and  my  grandmother  made  when  they  rejected 
Hammond  !  What  a  pearl  above  price  they  threw  away  !  But 
you  see  neither  my  Lady  nor  Lesbia  could  appreciate  a  gem  un- 
less it  was  richly  set." 

And  now  Lady  Maulevrier  lay  on  her  couch  by  the  fire  wait- 
ing for  James  Steadman.  She  had  seen  him  several  times  since 
the  day  of  her  seizure ;  but  never  alone.     There  was  an  idea 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  131 

that  Steadman  must  necessarily  talk  to  her  of  business  matters  ; 
so  there  had  been  a  well  intentioned  conspiracy  in  the  house  to 
keep  him  out  of  her  way,  but  now  she  was  much  better,  and  her 
desire  to  see  Steadman  need  no  longer  be  thwarted. 

He  cam^e  at  her  bidding,  and  stood  a  little  way  within  the 
door,  tall,  erect,  square-shouldered,  resolute-looking,  with  a  quiet 
force  of  character  expressed  in  every  feature.  He  was  very 
much  the  same  man  as  he  had  been  forty  years  ago,  when  he 
went  with  her  Ladyship  to  Southampton,  and  accompanied  his 
master  and  mistress  on  that  tedious  journey  which  was  destined 
to  be  Lord  Maulevrier's  last  earthly  pilgrimage.  Time  had 
done  little  to  Steadman  in  those  forty  years,  except  to  whiten 
his  hair  and  beard,  and  imprint  some  thoughtful  lines  upon  his 
sagacious  forehead.  Time  had  done  something  for  him  men- 
tally, insomuch  as  he  had  read  a  great  many  books  and  cultiva- 
ted his  mind  in  the  monotonous  quiet  of  Fellside.  Altogether 
he  was  a  superior  man  for  the  passage  of  those  forty  years. 

He  had  married  within  the  time,  choosing  for  himself  the 
buxom  daughter  of  a  lodge-keeper,  whose  wife  had  long  been  laid 
at  rest  in  Grasmere  churchyard.  The  buxom  girl  had  grown 
into  a  bulky  matron,  but  she  was  a  colorless  personage,  and  her 
existence  made  hardly  any  difference  in  James  Steadman's  life. 
She  had  brought  him  no  children,  and  their  fireside  was  lonely  ; 
Steadman  was  one  of  those  self-contained  personages  to  whom 
a  solitary  life  is  no  affliction. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  in  better  health,  my  Lady,"  he  said,  stand- 
ing straight  and  square  like  a  soldier  on  parade. 

"  I  am  better,  thank  you,  Steadman,  better,  but  a  poor  life- 
less log  chained  to  this  sofa.  I  sent  for  you  because  the  time 
has  come  when  I  must  talk  to  you  upon  some  business.  You 
heard,  I  suppose,  that  a  stranger  called  upon  me  just  before  I 
had  my  attack  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady." 

"  Did  you  hear  who  and  what  he  was  ? " 

"  Only  that  he  was  a  foreigner,  my  Lady." 

"  He  is  of  Indian  birth.  He  claims  to  be  the  son  of  the 
Ranee  of  Bisnagar." 

"  He  could  do  you  no  harm,  my  Lady,  if  he  were  twenty  times 
her  son." 

"  I  hope  not.  Now,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  Among 
those  trunks  and  cases  and  packages  of  Lord  Maulevrier's  which 
were  sent  here  by  heavy  coach,  after  they  were  landed  at  South- 
ampton, do  you  remember  two  cases  of  books  ?  " 

"There  are  two  large  cases  among  the  luggage,  my  Lady, 


132 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


very  heavy  cases,  iron  clamped.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  they 
were  full  of  books." 

"  Have  they  never  been  opened  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"  Are  they  locked  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady.     There  are  two  padlocks  on  each  chest." 

"  And  are  the  keys  in  your  posession  ?  " 

"  No,  my  Lady." 

"  Where  are  the  cases  ? " 

"  In  the  Oak  Room,  with  the  rest  of  the  Indian  luggage." 

"  Let  them  remain  there.  No  doubt,  those  cases  contain  the 
books  of  which  I  have  been  told.  You  have  not  heard  that  the 
person  calling  himself  Rajah  of  Bisnagar  has  been  here  since 
my  illness,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  my  Lady,  I  am  sure  he  has  not  been  here." 

Lady  Maulevrier  gave  him  a  scrutinizing  look. 

"  He  might  have  come,  and  my  people  might  have  kept  the 
knowledge  from  me,  out  of  consideration  for  my  imfirmity,"  she 
said.  "  I  should  be  very  angry  if  it  were  so.  I  should  hate  to 
be  treated  like  a  child." 

"  You  shall  not  be  so  treated,  my  Lady,  while  I  am  in  this 
house  ;  but  I  know  there  is  no  member  of  the  household  who 
would  presume  so  to  treat  you." 

"They  might  do  it  out  of  kindness  ;  but  I  should  loathe  such 
kindness,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  impatiently.  "  Though  I  have 
been  smitten  down,  though  I  lie  here  like  a  log,  I  have  a  mind 
to  think  and  to  plan  ;  and  I  am  not  afraid  to  meet  danger  face 
to  face.  Are  you  telling  me  the  truth,  Steadman  ?  Have  there 
been  no  visits  concealed  from  me,  no  letters  kept  from  me  since 
I  have  been  ill  ?  " 

"  I  am  telling  you  nothing  but  the  truth,  my  Lady.  No  letter 
has  been  kept  from  you  ;  no  visitor  has  been  to  this  house  whose 
coming  you  have  not  been  told  of." 

"  Then  I  am  content,"  said  her  Ladyship,  with  a  sigh  of  relief . 

After  this  there  followed  some  conversation  upon  business 
matters.  James  Steadman  was  trusted  with  the  entire  manage- 
ment of  the  Dowager's  income,  the  investment  of  her  savings. 
His  honesty  was  above  all  suspicion.  He  was  a  man  of  simple 
habits,  his  wants  few.  He  had  saved  money  in  every  3-ear  of 
his  service  ;  and  for  a  man  of  his  station  was  rich  enough  to  be 
unassailable  by  the  tempter. 

He  had  reconciled  his  mind  to  the  monotonous  course  of  life 
at  Fellside  in  the  beginning  of  things;  and,  as_ the  years  glided 
smoothly  by,  his  character  and  wants  and  inclinations  had  as  it 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


133 


were  molded  themselves  to  fit  that  life.  He  had  easy  duties,  a 
comfortable  home,  supreme  authority  in  the  household,  he  was 
looked  up  to  and  made  much  of  in  the  village  whenever  he  con- 
descended to  appear  there,  and  by  the  rareness  of  his  visits  to  the 
inn  or  the  reading-room,  and  his  unwillingness  to  accept  hospi- 
tality from  the  tradesmen  of  Grasmere  and  Ambleside,  he  main- 
tained his  dignity  and  exaggerated  his  importance.  He  had 
his  books  and  his  newspapers,  his  evening  leisure  which  no  one 
ever  dared  to  disturb.  He  had  the  old  wing  of  the  house  for  his 
exclusive  occupation,  and  no  one  ventured  to  intrude  upon  him  in 
his  privacy.  There  v/as  a  bell  in  the  corridor  which  communi- 
cated with  his  rooms,  and  by  this  bell  he  was  always  summoned. 
There  were  servants  who  had  been  ten  years  at  Fellside,  and 
who  had  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  green  baize  door 
which  was  the  only  communication  between  the  new  house  and 
the  old  one.  Steadman's  wife  performed  all  household  duties 
of  cookmg  and  cleaning  in  the  old  wing,  where  she  and  her  hus- 
band took  all  their  meals,  and  lived  entirely  apart  from  the  other 
servants,  an  exclusiveness  which  was  secretly  resented  by  the 
establishment. 

"  Mr.  Steadman  maybe  a  very  superior  man,"  said  the  butler, 
*'  and  I  know  that  in  his  own  estimation  the  Premier  isn't  in  it 
compared  with  him;  but  1  never  was  fond  of  people  who  set 
themselves  upon  pinnacles,  and  I'm  not  fond  of  the  Steadmans." 

"  Mrs.  Steadman's  plain  and  homely  enough,"  replied  the 
housekeeper,  •'  and  I  know  she'd  like  to  be  more  sociable  and 
drop  into  my  room  for  a  cup  of  tea  now  and  then ;  but  Stead- 
man  do  so  keep  her  under  his  thumb  ;  and  because  he's  a  misan- 
thrope she's  obliged  to  sit  and  mope  alone." 

If  Steadman  wanted  to  drive,  there  was  a  gig  and  horse  at  his 
disposal ;  but  he  did  not  often  leave  Feilside.  He  seemed  in 
his  humble  way  to  model  his  life  upon  Lady  Maulevrier's  se- 
cluded habits. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  Steadman  left  Lady  Maulevrier, 
and  she  lay  for  some  time  looking  at  the  landscape  over  which 
twilight  shadows  were  stealing,  and  thinking  of  her  own  life. 
Over  that  life,  too,  the  shadows  of  evening  were  creeping.  She 
had  begun  to  realize  the  fact  that  she  was  an  old  woman ;  that 
for  her  all  personal  interest  in  life  was  nearly  over.  She  had 
never  felt  her  age  while  her  activity  was  unimpaired.  She  had 
been  obliged  to  remind  herself  very  often  that  youth  and  middle 
age  had  slipped  away  unawares  in  that  tranquil  retirement,  and 
that  the  night  was  at  hand. 

For  her  the  close  of  early  life  meant  actual  night.     No  new 


134 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


dawn,  no  mysterious  after-life  shone  upon  her  with  magical 
gleams  of  an  unknown  light  upon  the  other  side  of  the  dark 
river.  She  had  accepted  the  Materialists'  bitter  and  barren 
creed,  and  had  taught  herself  that  this  little  life  was  all.  She 
had  learned  to  scorn  the  idea  of  a  great  Artificer  outside  the  uni- 
verse, a  mighty  Spirit  riding  amidst  the  clouds  and  ruling  the 
course  of  nature  and  the  fate  of  man.  She  had  schooled  her- 
self to  think  that  the  idea  of  a  blind  unconscious  Nature,  working 
automatically  through  infinite  time  and  space,  was  ever  so  much 
grander  than  that  old-world  notion  of  a  personal  God,  a  Being 
of  infinite  power  and  inexhaustible  beneficence,  mighty  to  devise 
and  direct  the  universe,  with  knowledge  reaching  to  the  farthest 
confines  of  space,  with  ear  to  listen  to  the  prayer  of  His  lowest 
creatures.  Her  belief  stopped  short  even  of  the  Deist's  faith  in 
an  Almighty  Will.  She  saw  in  creation  nothing  but  the  inevit- 
able development  of  material  laws ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
there  was  quite  as  much  hope  of  a  heavenly  world  after  death 
for  the  infusoria  in  the  pool  as  for  man  in  his  pride  and  power. 

She  read  her  Bible  as  diligently  as  she  read  her  Shakespeare, 
and  the  words  of  the  preacher  in  some  measure  embodied  her 
own  dreary  creed.  And  now,  in  the  darkening  winter  day,  she 
watched  the  gloomy  shadows  creep  over  the  rugged  breast  of 
Nabb  Scar,  and  she  thought  how  there  was  a  time  for  all  things, 
and  that  her  day  of  hope  and  ambition  was  past. 

Of  late  years  she  had  lived  for  Lesbia,  looking  forward  to  the 
day  when  she  was  to  introduce  this  beloved  grandchild  to  the 
great  world  of  London  ;  and  now  that  hope  was  gone  forever. 
What  could  a  helpless  cripple  do  for  a  fashionable  beauty  1 
What  good  would  it  be  for  her  to  be  conveyed  to  London  and 
to  lie  on  a  couch  in  Mayfair,  while  Lesbia  rode  in  the  Row  and 
went  to  three  or  four  parties  every  night  ? 

She  had  hoped  to  go  everywhere  with  her  darling,  to  glor}'  in 
all  her  successes,  to  shield  her  from  all  possibility  of  failure. 
And  now  Lesbia  must  stand  or  fall  alone. 

It  was  a  hard  thing,  but  perhaps  the  hardest  part  of  it  all  was 
that  Lesbia  seemed  so  very  well  able  to  get  on  without  her.  The 
girl  wrote  in  the  highest  spirits,  and  although  her  letters  were 
most  affectionately  worded,  they  were  all  about  self.  That  note 
was  dominant  in  every  strain.  Her  triumphs,  her  admirers,  her 
bonnets,  her  gowns.  She  had  had  more  money  from  her  grand- 
mother and  more  gowns  from  Paris. 

"  You  have  no  idea  how  the  people  dress  in  this  place,"  she 
wrote.  "  I  should  have  been  quite  out  in  the  cold  without  my 
three  new  frocks  from  Worth.      The  little  Princess  bonnets  J 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  135 

wear  are  the  rage.  Worth  recommended  me  to  adopt  special 
flowers  and  colors  ;  so  I  have  worn  nothing  but  primroses  since 
I  have  been  here,  and  my  little  primrose  bonnets  are  to  be  seen 
everywhere,  sometimes  on  hideous  old  women.  Lady  Kirkbank 
hopes  you  will  be  able  to  go  to  London  directly  after  Easter. 
She  says  I  must  be  presented  at  the  May  drawing-room— that 
is  imperative.  People  have  begun  to  talk  about  me,  and  unless 
I  make  my  debut  while  their  interest  is  fresh  I  shall  be  a  failure. 
There  is  an  American  beauty  here,  and  I  believe  she  and  I  are 
considered  rivals,  and  young  men  make  bets  about  us  as  to  which 
will  look  best  at  a  ball,  or  a  regatta,  what  colors  we  shall  wear, 
and  so  on.  It  is  immense  fun.  I  only  wish  you  were  here  to 
enjoy  it.  The  American  girl  is  a  most  insolent  person,  but  I 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  crushing  her  on  several  occasions  in 
the  calmest  way.  In  the  description  of  a  concert  in  last  week's 
newspaper  I  was  called  I'Anglaise  de  Marbre.  Miss  Bolsover's 
voice  was  heard  ever  so  many  times  above  the  music.  According 
to  our  English  ideas  she  has  most  revolting  manners,  and  the 
money  she  spends  on  her  clothes  would  make  your  hair  stand 
on  end.  Now  do,  dearest  grandmother,  make  all  your  arrange- 
ments for  beginning  the  campaign  directly  after  Easter.  You 
must  take  a  house  in  the  very  choicest  quarter — Lady  Kirk- 
bank suggests  Grosvenor  Place — and  it  must  be  a  large  house, 
for  of  course  you  will  give  a  ball.  Lady  K.  says  we  might  have 
Lord  Bolingbroke's  house — poor  Lady  Bolingbroke  and  her  baby 
died  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  he  has  gone  to  Sweden,  quite  broken- 
hearted. It  is  one  of  the  new  houses,  exquisitely  furnished,  and 
Lady  K.  thinks  you  might  have  it  for  a  song.  Will  you  get 
Steadman  to  write  to  his  Lordship's  steward  and  see  what  can 
be  done  ? 

*'  I  hope  the  dear  hand  is  better.  You  have  never  told  me 
how  you  hurt  it.  It  is  very  sweet  of  Mary  to  write  me  such  long 
letters,  and  quite  a  pleasant  surprise  to  find  she  can  spell ;  but 
I  want  to  see  your  own  dear  hand  once  more." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  AND  COME  AGEN  BE  IT  BY  NIGHT  OR  DAY." 

Those  Winter  months  were  unutterably  dreary  for  Lady  Mary 
Haselden.  She  felt  weighed  down  by  a  sense  of  death  and  woe 
near  at  hand.     The  horror  of  that  dreadful  moment  in  which 


136  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

she  found  her  grandmother  lying  senseless  on  the  ground,  the 
terror  of  that  distorted  countenance,  those  starting  eyes, 
that  stertorous  breathing,  was  not  easily  banished  frorn  a 
vivid  girlish  imagination,  seeing  how  few  distractions  there  were 
to  divert  Mary's  thoughts,  and  how  the  sun  sank  and  rose  again 
upon  the  same  inevitable  surroundings,  the  same  monotonous 
routine. 

Her  grandmother  was  kinder  than  she  had  been  in  days  gone 
by,  less  inclined  to  find  fault  with  her ;  but  Mary  knew  that  her 
society  gave  Lady  Maulevrier  very  little  pleasure,  that  she 
could  do  hardly  anything  toward  filling  the  gap  made  by 
Lesbia's  absence.  These  was  no  one  to  scold  her,  no  one  to 
quarrel  with  her.  Fraulein  Kirsch  lectured  her  mildly  from 
time  to  time ;  but  that  stout  German  was  too  lazy  to  put  any 
force  or  fire  into  her  lectures.  Her  reproofs  were  like  the  fall 
of  waterdrops  on  a  stone,  and  ages  would  have  been  needed  to 
cause  any  positive  impression. 

February  came  to  an  end  without  sign  or  token  from  the 
outer  world  to  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  life  at  Fellside.  Mary 
read,  and  read,  till  she  felt  she  was  made  up  of  the  contents  of 
books,  crammed  with  other  people's  ideas.  She  read  history, 
or  natural  science,  or  travels,  or  poetry  in  the  morning,  and 
novels  or  English  poetry  in  the  evening.  She  had  pledged  her- 
self to  devote  her  morning  indoor  hours  to  instructive  literature, 
and  to  accomplish  some  portion  of  study  in  every  day.  She 
was  carrying  on  her  education  on  parole,  as  before  stated,  and 
she  was  too  honorable  to  do  less  than  was  expected  from  her. 

March  came  in  with  its  most  leonine  aspect,  howling  and 
blustering ;  northeast  winds  shrieking  along  the  gorges  and 
wailing  from  height  to  height. 

'*  I  wonder  the  lion  and  the  lamb  are  not  blown  into  the 
lake,"  said  Mary,  looking  at  Helm  Crag  from  the  library 
window. 

She  scampered  about  the  gardens  in  the  very  teeth  of  those  bit- 
ter blasts,  and  took  her  shivering  terriers  for  runs  on  the  green 
slopes  on  the  Fell.  The  snow  had  gradually  melted  from  the  sides 
of  the  lowermost  range  of  hills,  but  the  mountain  peaks  were  still 
white  and  ghostly,  the  ground  still  hard  and  slippery  in  the 
early  mornings.  Mary  had  to  take  her  walks  alone  in  this 
bleak  weather.  Fraulein  Kirsch  had  a  convenient  bronchial 
affection  which  forbade  her  to  venture  so  much  as  the  point  of 
her  nose  outside  the  house  in  an  east  wind,  and  which  justified 
her  in  occasionally  taking  her  breakfast  in  bed.  She  spent  her 
days  for  the  most  part  in  her  arm-chair,  drawn  close  to  the  fire- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  137 

place,  which  she  still  persisted  in  calling  the  oven,  knitting 
diligently,  or  reading  a  German  newspaper.  Even  music,  which 
had  once  been  her  strong  point,  was  neglected  in  this  trying 
weather.  It  was  such  a  cold  journey  from  the  oven  to  the 
piano. 

Mary  played  a  good  deal  in  her  desultory  manner,  now  that 
she  had  the  drawing-room  all  to  herself,  and  no  fear  of  Lady 
Maulevrier's  critical  ear  or  Lesbia's  superior  smile.  The  Frau- 
lein  was  pleased  to  hear  her  ramble  on  with  her  favorite  bits 
from  Raff,  and  Hensel,  and  Brahm,  and  Mendelssohn,  and 
Mozart,  and  was  very  well  content  to  let  her  play  just  what  she 
liked  and  to  escape  the  trouble  of  training  her  to  that  exquisite 
perfection  into  which  Lady  Lesbia  had  been  drilled.  Lesbia 
was  not  a  genius,  and  the  training  process  had  been  quite  as 
hard  for  the  governess  as  for  the  pupil. 

Thus  the  slow  days  wore  on  till  the  first  week  in  March,  and 
on  one  bleak  bitter  afternoon,  when  Fraulein  Kirsch  stuck  to 
the  oven  even  a  little  closer  than  usual,  Mary  felt  she  must  go 
out,  in  the  face  of  the  east  wind  which  was  tossing  the  leafless 
branches  in  the  valley  below  until  the  trees  looked  like  an  angry 
crowd,  hurling  its  arms  in  the  air,  fighting,  struggling,  writhing. 
She  must  leave  that  dreary  house  for  a  little  while,  were  it  even 
to  be  lashed  and  bruised  and  broken  by  that  fierce  wind.  So 
she  told  Miss  Kirsch  that  she  really  must  have  her  constitu- 
tional, and  after  a  feeble  remonstrance  Miss  Kirsch  let  her  go, 
and  subsided  luxuriously  into  the  pillowed  depth  of  her  arm- 
chair. 

There  had  been  a  hard  frost,  and  all  the  mountain  ways  were 
perilous,  so  Mary  set  out  upon  a  steady  tramp  along  the  road 
leading  toward  the  Langdales.  The  wind  seemed  to  assail 
her  from  every  side,  but  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  defy  the 
elements,  and  she  only  hugged  her  sealskin  jacket  closer  to  her, 
and  quickened  her  pace,  chirruping  and  whistling  to  Ahab  and 
Ariadne,  the  two  fox-terriers  which  she  had  selected  for  the 
privilege  of  a  walk. 

The  terriers  raced  along  the  road,  and  Mary,  seeing  that  she 
had  the  road  all  to  herself,  raced  after  them.  A  light  snow 
shower,  large  feathery  flakes  flying  wide  apart,  fell  from  the 
steel-gray  sky  ;  but  Mary  minded  the  snow  no  more  than  she 
minded  the  wind.  She  raced  on,  the  terriers  scampering,  rush- 
ing, flying  before  her,  until,  just  where  the  road  took  a  curve, 
she  almost  ran  into  a  horse,  which  was  stepping  along  at  a  tre- 
mendous pace,  with  a  light,  high  dog-cart  behind  him. 


138  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  Hi  !  "  cried  the  driver,  "  where  are  you  coming,  young  wom- 
an ?     Have  you  never  seen  a  horse  till  to-day  ?  " 

Some  one  beside  the  driver  leapt  out,  and  ran  to  see  if  Mary 
was  hurt.  The  horse  had  swerved  to  one  side,  reared  a  little, 
and  then  spun  on  for  a  few  yards,  leaving  her  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

"  Why,  it's  Molly,"  cried  the  driver,  who  was  no  less  distin- 
guished a  whip  than  Lord  Maulevrier,  and  who  had  recognized 
the  terriers. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  hurt,"  said  the  gentleman  who  had 
alighted,  Maulevrier's  friend  and  shadow,  John  Hammond. 

Mary  was  covered  with  confusion  by  her  exploit,  and  could 
hardly  answer  Mr.  Hammond's  very  simple  question. 

She  looked  up  at  him  piteously,  trying  to  speak,  and  he  took 
alarm  at  her  scared  expression. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  hurt,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  the  horse  must 
have  struck  you,  or  the  shaft,  perhaps,  which  was  worse.  Is  it 
your  shoulder  that  is  hurt  or  your  chest  ?  Lean  on  me,  if  you 
feel  faint  or  giddy.  Maulevrier,  you  had  better  drive  your  sister 
home  and  get  her  looked  after." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  not  hurt ;  not  the  least  little  bit,"  gasped 
Mary,  who  had  recovered  her  senses  by  this  time.  "  I  was  only 
frightened,  and  it  was  such  a  surprise  to  see  you  and  Maule- 
vrier." 

A  surprise — yes — a  surprise  which  had  set  her  heart  throbbing 
so  violently  as  to  render  her  speechless.  Had  horse  or  shaft-point 
struck  her  over  so  she  would  have  hardly  been  more  tremulous 
than  she  felt  at  this  moment.  Never  had  she  hoped  to  see  him 
again.  He  had  set  his  all  upon  one  cast — loved,  wooed,  and 
lost  her  sister.  Why  should  he  ever  come  again  "i  What  was 
there  at  Fellside  worth  coming  for  ?  And  then  she  remembered 
what  her  grandmother  thought  of  him.  He  was  a  hanger-on,  a 
sponge,  a  led  captain.  He  was  Maulevrier's  Umbra,  and  must 
go  where  his  patron  went.  It  was  a  hard  thing  so  to  think  of 
him,  and  Mary's  heart  sank  at  the  thought  that  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's worldly  wisdom  might  have  reckoned  aright. 

"  It  was  very  foolish  of  me  to  run  into  the  horse,"  said  Mary, 
while  Mr.  Hammond  stood  waiting  for  her  to  recover  herself. 

"  It  was  very  foolish  of  Maulevrier  to  run  into  you.  If  he 
didn't  drive  at  such  a  break-neck  pace  it  wouldn't  have  hap- 
pened." 

Umbra  was  very  plain-spoken  at  any  rate. 

"There's  rank  ingratitude,"  cried  Maulevrier,  who  had  turned 
back,  and  was  looking  down  at  them  from  his  elevated  perch. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


t39 


"After  my  coming  all  the  way  round  by  Langdale  to  oblige  yon 
with  a  view  of  Elterwater.  Molly  all  safe  and  sound.  She  wouldn't 
have  minded  if  I'd  run  over  her.  Come  along,  child,  get  up  be- 
side me.     Hammond  will  take  the  back  seat." 

This  was  easier  said  than  done,  for  the  back  of  the  dog-cart 
was  piled  with  Gladstone  bags,  gun-cases  and  hat-boxes  ;  but 
Umbra  was  ready  to  oblige.  He  handed  Mary  up  to  the  seat 
by  the  driver,  and  clambered  up  at  the  back  and  hooked 
himself  on  somehow  among  the  luggage. 

"  Dear  Maulevrier,  how  delicious  of  you  to  come,"  said  Mary, 
when  they  were  rattling  on  toward  Fell  side  ;  "  I  hope  you  are 
going  to  stay  for  ages." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say,  if  you  make  yourself  very  agreeable,  I  may 
stay  till  after  Easter." 

Mary's  countenance  fell. 

"  Easter  is  in  three  weeks,"  she  said,  despondingly. 

'•And  isn't  three  weeks  an  age  at  such  a  place  as  Fellside? 
I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  come  at  all  on  this  side  of  the 
August  sports,  only  as  the  grandmother  was  ill,  I  thought  it  a 
duty  to  come  and  see  her.  A  fellow  mayn't  care  much  for  his 
ancestors  when  they're  well,  you  know,  but  when  a  poor  old  lady 
is  down  on  her  luck,  her  people  ought  to  look  after  her.  So, 
here  I  am,  and  as  I  knew  I  should  be  moped  to  death  here — " 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  said  Mary. 

"  I  brought  Hammond  along  with  me.  Of  course  I  knew  Les- 
bia  was  safe  out  of  the  way,"  added  Maulevrier  in  an  undertone. 

"  It  is  very  obliging  of  Mr.  Hammond  always  to  go  where  you 
wish,"  returned  Mary,  who  could  not  help  a  bitter  feeling  when 
she  remembered  her  grandmother's  cruel  suggestion.  "  Has  he 
no  tastes  or  inclinations  of  his  own  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  has,  plenty  of  them,  and  much  loftier  tastes  than 
mine,  I  can  tell  you.  But  he's  kind  enough  to  let  me  hang  on 
to  him,  and  to  put  up  with  my  frivolity.  There  never  were  two 
men  more  different  than  he  and  I  are,  and  I  suppose  that's  why 
we  get  on  so  well  together.  When  we  were  in  Paris  he  was 
always  up  to  his  eyes  in  serious  work — lectures,  public  libraries, 
workmen's  syndicates — Heaven  knows  what,  making  himself 
master  of  the  political  situation  in  France,  while  I  was  rigolant 
and  chaloupant  at  the  Bal  Bullier." 

It  was  generous  of  Maulevrier  to  speak  of  his  hanger-on  thus, 
and  no  doubt  the  society  of  a  well-informed  earnest  young  man 
was  a  great  good  for  Maulevrier,  a  good  far  above  the  price  of 
those  pounds,  shillings  and  pence  which  the  Earl  might  spend 
for  his  dependent's  benefit ;  but  when  a  girl  of  Mary's  fervent 


I40  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

temper  has  made  a  hero  of  a  man,  it  galls  her  to  think  that  her 
hero's  dignity  should  be  sacrificed,  his  honor  impeached,  were 
it  by  the  merest  tittle. 

Maulevrier  made  a  good  many  inquiries  about  his  grand- 
mother, and  seemed  really  full  of  kindness  and  sympathy ;  but 
it  was  with  a  feeling  of  profound  awe,  nay,  of  involuntary  reluct-  . 
ance  and  shrinking,  that  he  presently  entered  her  Ladyship's  sit- 
ting-room, ushered  in  by  Mary,  who  had  been  to  her  grand- 
mother beforehand  to  announce  the  grandson's  arrival. 

He  had  hardly  ever  been  in  a  sick-room  before.  He  half  ex- 
pected to  see  Lady  Maulevrier  in  bed,  with  a  crowd  of  medicine 
bottles  and  a  cut  orange  on  a  table  by  her  side,  and  a  sick  nurse 
of  the  ancient  crone  species  cowering  over  the  hre.  It  was  an 
Infinite  relief  to  him  to  find  his  grandmother  lying  on  a  sofa  by 
the  fire  in  her  pretty  morning  room.  A  little  tea-table  was 
drawn  close  up  to  her  sofa,  and  she  was  takmg  her  afternoon 
tea.  It  was  rather  painful  to  see  her  lifting  her  tea-cup  slowly 
and  carefully  with  her  left  hand,  but  that  was  all.  The  dark 
eyes  still  flashed  with  the  old  eagle  glance,  tlie  lines  of  the  lips 
were  as  proud  and  firm  as  ever.  All  sign  of  contraction  or  dis- 
tortion had  passed  away.  In  hours  of  calm  her  Ladyship's  beauty 
was  unimpaired  ;  but  with  any  strong  emotion  there  came  a  con- 
vulsive working  of  the  features,  and  the  face  was  momentarily 
drawn  and  distorted,  as  it  had  been  at  the  time  of  the  seiz- 
ure. 

Maulevrier's  presence  had  not  an  unduly  agitating  effect  on 
her  Ladyship.  She  received  him  with  tranquil  graciousness,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  coming. 

"  I  hope  you  have  spent  your  Winter  profitably  in  Paris,''  she 
said.  *'  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  learnt  there  if  you  go  into 
the  right  circles." 

Maulevrier  told  her  that  he  had  found  much  to  learn,  and  that 
he  had  gone  into  circles  where  almost  everything  was  new  to 
him.  Whereupon  his  grandmother  questioned  him  about  cer- 
tain noble  families  which  had  been  known  to  her  in  her  own  day 
of  power,  and  whose  movements  she  had  observed  from  a  dis- 
tance since  that  time ;  but  here  she  found  her  grandson  dark. 
He  had  not  happened  to  meet  any  of  the  people  she  spoke 
about,  the  plain  truth  being  that  he  had  lived  altogether  as  a 
Bohemian,  and  had  not  used  one  of  the  letters  of  introduction 
that  had  been  given  to  him. 

"  Your  friend  Mr.  Hammond  is  with  you,  I  am  told,"  said 
Lady  Maulevrier,  not  altogether  with  delight. 

"  Yes,  I  made  him  come,  but  he  is  quite  safe.     He  will  bolt 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


141 


like  a  shot  at  the  least  hint  of  Lesbia's  return.  He  doesn't  want 
to  meet  that  young  lady  again,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Pray  don't  talk  in  that  injured  tone.  Mr.  Hammond  is  a 
gentlemanlike  person,  very  well  informed,  very  agreeable.  I 
have  never  denied  that.  But  you  could  not  expect  me  to  allow 
my  granddaughter  to  throw  herself  away  upon  the  first  adven- 
turer who  made  her  an  offer." 

"  Hammond  is  not  an  adventurer." 

"  Ver}'  well,  I  will  not  call  him  so  if  the  term  offends  you. 
But  Mr.  Hammond  is — Mr.  Hammond  ;  and  I  cannot  allow  Les- 
bia  to  marry  Mr.  Hammond  or  Mr.  Anybody,  and  I  am  very 
sorry  you  have  brought  him  here  again.  There  is  Mary,  a  silly, 
romantic  girl !  I  am  very  much  afraid  he  has  made  an  impres- 
sion upon  her.  She  colors  absurdly  when  she  talks  of  him,  and 
flew  into  a  passion  with  me  the  other  day  when  I  ventured  to 
hint  that  he  is  not  a  Rothschild,  and  that  his  society  must  be 
expensive  to  you." 

''  His  society  does  not  cost  me  anything.  Hammond  is  the 
soul  of  independence.  He  worked  as  a  blacksmith  in  Canada 
for  three  months  just  to  see  what  life  was  like  in  a  wild  district. 
There  never  was  such  a  fellow  to  rough  it.  And  as  for  Mary, 
well,  now,  really,  if  he  happened  to  take  a  fancy  to  her,  and  if 
she  happened  to  like  him,  I  wouldn't  burke  it,  if  I  were  you, 
grandmother.     Take  my  word  for  it,  Molly  might  do  worse." 

"Of  course.  She  might  marry  a  chimney  sweep.  There  is 
no  answering  for  a  girl  of  that  erratic  nature.  She  is  silly 
enough  and  romantic  enough  for  anything ;  but  I  shall  not  coun- 
tenance her  if  she  wants  to  throw  herself  away  on  a  person  with- 
out prospects  or  connections  ;  and  I  look  to  you,  Maulevrier, 
to  take  care  of  her,  now  that  I  am  a  wretched  log  chained  to 
this  room." 

"  You  may  rely  upon  me,  grandmother.  Molly  shall  come  to 
no  harm,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  her  Ladyship,  touching  her  bell  twice. 

The  two  clear  silvery  strokes  were  a  summons  for  Halcott, 
the  maid,  who  appeared  immediately. 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Powers  to  get  his  Lordship's  rooms  ready  immedi- 
ately, and  to  give  Mr.  Hammond  the  room  he  had  in  the  Sum- 
mer," said  Lady  Maulevrier,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation. 

While  Maulevrier  was  with  his  grandmother,  John  Hammond 
was  smoking  a  solitary  cigar  on  the  terrace,  contemplating  the 
mountain  landscape  in  its  cold  March  grayness,  and  wondering 
very  much  to  find  himself  again  at  Fellside.  He  had  gone 
forth  from  that  house  full  of  passionate  indignation,  shaking  off 


142  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

the  dust  from  his  feet,  sternly  resolving  never  again  to  cross  the 
threshold  of  that  fateful  cave,  where  he  had  met  this  cold- 
hearted  Circe.  And  now,  because  Circe  was  safe  out  of  the  way, 
he  had  come  back  to  the  cavern,  and  he  was  feeling  all  the  pain 
that  a  man  feels  who  beholds  again  the  scene  of  a  great  past 
sorrow. 

Was  this  the  old  love  and  the  old  pain  again,  he  wondered,  or 
was  it  only  the  sharp  thrust  of  a  bitter  memory  ?  He  had  be- 
lieved himself  cured  of  his  useless  love — a  great  and  noble  love 
wasted  on  a  smaller  nature  than  his  own.  He  had  thought  that  be- 
cause his  eyes  were  opened,  and  he  understood  the  character  of 
the  girl  he  loved,  his  cure  must  needs  be  complete.  Yet,  now,  face 
to  face  Mdth  the  well-remembered  landscape,  looking  down  upon 
that  dull  gray  lake  which  he  had  seen  smiling  in  the^  sunshine, 
he  began  to  doubt  the  completeness  of  his  cure.  He  recalled 
the  lovely  face,  the  graceful  form,  the  sweet,  low  voice — the  per- 
fection of  gracious  womanhood,  manner,  dress,  movements, 
tones,  smiles,  all  faultless  ;  and  in  the  absence  of  that  one  figure 
it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  come  back  to  a  tenantless,  dis- 
mantled house,  where  there  was  nothing  that  made  life  worth 
living. 

The  red  sun  went  down — a  fierce  and  lurid  face  that  seemed 
to  scowl  through  the  gray — and  Mr.  Hammond  felt  that  it  was 
time  to  arouse  himself  from  gloomy  meditation  and  go  in  to 
dress  for  dinner.  Maulevrier's  valet  was  to  arrive  by  the  coach 
with  the  heavier  part  of  the  luggage,  and  Maulevrier's  valet  did 
that  very  small  portion  of  valeting  which  was  ever  required  by 
Mr.  Hammond.  A  man  who  has  worked  at  a  forge  in  the  back- 
woods is  not  likely  to  be  finicking  in  his  ways,  or  depend  upon 
servants  for  looking  after  his  raiment. 

Despite  Mr.  Hammond's  gloomy  memories  of  past  joys  and 
disillusions,  he  contrived  to  make  himself  very  agreeable,  by  and 
by,  at  dinner,  and  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  and  the 
evening  was  altogether  gay  and  sprightly.  Maulevrier  was  in 
high  spirits,  full  of  his  Parisian  experiences,  and  talking  slang 
as  glibly  as  a  student  of  the  Quartier  Latin.  He  would  talk 
nothing  but  French,  protesting  that  he  had  almost  forgotten  his 
native  tongue  ;  and  his  French  was  die  language  of  Larchey's 
Dictionary  of  Argot,  in  which  nothing  is  called  by  its  right  name. 
Mary  was  enchanted  with  this  new  vocabular}^,  and  wanted  to 
have  every  word  explained  to  her ;  but  Maulevrier  confessed 
that  there  was  a  good  deal  that  was  unexplainable. 

The  evening  was  much  more  livelier  than  those  summer  even- 
ings when  the  Dowager  and  Lady  Lesbia  were  present.     There 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  143 

was  something  less  of  refinement,  perhaps,  and  Fraulein  remon- 
strated now  and  then  about  some  small  violation  of  the  unwritten 
laws  of  "  Anstand,''  but  there  was  more  mirth.  Maulevrier  felt 
for  the  first  time  as  if  he  were  master  at  Fellside.  They  all 
went  into  the  billiard-room  soon  after  dinner,  and  Fraulein' and 
^Mary  sat  by  the  fire  looking  on,  while  the  two  young  men  played. 
In  such  an  evening  there  was  no  time  for  bitter  memories,  and 
John  Hammond  was  surprised  to  find  how  little  he  had  missed 
that  enchantress  whose  absence  had  made  the  house  seem  des- 
olate to  him  when  he  re-entered  it. 

He  was  tired  with  his  journey  and  the  varying  emotions  of 
the  day,  for  it  was  not  without  strong  emotion  that  he  had  con- 
sented to  return  to  Fellside — and  he  slept  soundly  for  the  earlier 
part  of  the  night.  But  he  had  trained  himself  long  ago  to  do 
with  a  very  moderate  portion  of  sleep,  and  he  was  up  and  dressed 
while  the  dawn  was  still  slowly  creeping  along  the  edges  of  the 
hills.  He  went  quietly  down  to  the  hall,  took  one  of  the  bam- 
boos from  a  collection  of  canes  and  mountain  sticks,  and  set 
out  upon  a  morning  ramble  over  the  snowy  slopes.  The  snow 
showers  of  yesterday  had  only  sprinkled  the  green  sward  upon 
the  lower  ground,  but  above  the  winter  snows  still  fingered, 
giving  an  Alpine  character  to  the  landscape. 

John  Hammond  was  too  experienced  a  mountaineer  to  be 
deterred  by  a  little  snow.  He  went  up  Silver  Howe,  and  from 
the  rugged  breast  of  the  mountain  saw  the  sun  leap  up  from 
amidst  a  chaos  of  hill  and  crag  in  all  his  majesty,  while  the  gray 
mists  of  night  slowly  floated  up  from  the  valley  that  had  lain 
hidden  below  them,  and  Grasmere  Lake  sparkled  and  flashed 
in  the  light  of  the  newly  risen  sun. 

The  church  clock  was  striking  eight  as  he  came  at  a  brisk 
pace  down  to  the  valley.  There  was  still  an  hour  before  break- 
fast, so  he  took  a  circuitous  path  to  Fellside  and  descended 
upon  the  house  from  the  Fell,  as  he  had  done  that  Summer 
morning  when  he  saw  James  Steadman  sauntering  about  in  his 
garden. 

Within  about  half  a  mile  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  shrubberies 
Mr.  Hammond  encountered  a  pedestrian,  who  was  evidently 
like  himself,  taking  a  constitutional  ramble  in  the  morning  air,  but 
on  a  much  less  extended  scale,  for  this  person  did  not  look  capable 
of  going  far  afield. 

He  was  an  old  man,  something  under  middle  height,  but 
looking  as  if  he  had  once  been  taller ;  for  his  shoulders  were 
much  bent  and  his  head  was  sunk  on  his  chest.  His  whole 
form  looked  wasted  and  shrunken,  and  John  Hammond  thought 


144  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

he  had  never  seen  so  old  a  man — or  at  any  rate  any  man  who 
was  so  deeply  marked  with  all  the  signs  of  extreme  age ;  and 
yet  in  the  backwoods  of  America  he  had  met  ancient  settlers 
who  remembered  Franklin,  and  who  had  been  boys  when  the 
battle  of  Bunker's  Hill  was  yet  fresh  in  the  memory  of  their 
fathers  and  mothers. 

The  little  o]d  man  was  clad  in  a  thick  gray  overcoat  of  some 
shaggy  kind  of  cloth  which  looked  like  homespun.  He  wore  a 
felt  hat,  and  carried  a  thick  oak  stick,  and  there  was  nothing  in 
his  appearance  to  indicate  that  he  belonged  to  any  higher  grade 
than  that  of  the  shepherds  and  guides  with  whom  Hammond 
made  himself  familiar  during  his  previous  visit.  And  yet  there 
was  something  distinctive  about  the  man,  Hammond  thought, 
something  weird  and  uncanny  which  made  him  unlike  any  of 
those  old,  hale  and  hearty-looking  dalesmen  on  whom  their  years 
sat  so  lightly.  No,  Mr.  Hammond  could  not  fancy  this  man, 
with  his  pallid  countenance  and  pale  crafty  eyes,  to  be  of  the 
same  race  as  those  rugged  and  honest  looking  descendants  of  the 
Norsemen. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  man's  exceeding  age,  for  John  Hammond 
made  up  his  mind  that  he  must  be  a  centenarian,  which  gave 
him  so  strange  and  unholy  an  air.  He  had  the  aspect  of  a  man 
who  had  been  buried  and  brought  back  to  life  again. 

So  might  look  one  of  those  Indian  Fakirs  who  had  the  power 
to  suspend  life  by  some  mysterious  process,  and  to  lie  in  the 
darkness  of  the  grave  for  a  given  period,  and  then  at  their  own 
will  resume  the  functions  of  the  living.  His  long,  white  hair 
fell  upon  the  collar  of  his  gray  coat,  and  would  have  given  him 
a  patriarchal  appearance  had  the  face  possessed  the  dignity  of 
age  ;  but  it  was  a  countenance  without  dignity,  a  face  deeply 
scored  with  the  lines  of  evil  passions  and  guilty  memories — 
the  face  of  the  vulture,  with  the  touch  of  the  ferret — altogether 
a  most  unpleasant  face,  Mr.  Hammond  thought. 

And  yet  there  was  a  kind  of  fascination  about  that  bent 
and  shrunken  figure,  the  feeble  movements  and  shuffling  gait. 
John  Hammond  turned  to  look  after  the  old  man  when 
he  had  passed  him,  and  stood  to  watch  him  as  he  went 
slowly  up  the  Fell,  planting  his  stout  stick  upon  the  ground  be- 
fore every  footstep,  as  if  it  were  a  third  leg,  and  more  servicea- 
ble than  either  of  the   other  two. 

Mr.  Hammond  watched  him  for  two  or  three  minutes,  but  as 
the  old  man's  movements  had  an  automatic  regularity,  the  oc- 
cupation soon  palled,  and  he  turned  and  walked  toward  Fell- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  145 

side.  A  few  yards  nearer  the  grounds  he  met  James  Steadman 
walking  briskly,  and  smoking  his  morning  pipe. 

"You  are  out  early  this  morning,"  said  Hammond,  byway 
of  civility. 

"  I  am  always  pretty  early,  sir.  I  like  a  mouthful  of  morn- 
ing air." 

"  So  do  I.  By-the-by,  can  you  tell  me  anything  about  a 
queer-looking  old  man  I  passed  just  now  a  little  higher  up 
the  Fell  "i     Such  an    old,  old  man,  with  long  white  hair." 

"Yes,  sir.      I  believe  I  know  him." 

"  Who  is  he  ?     Does  he  live  in  Grasmere  ?  " 

Steadman  looked  puzzled. 

"  Well,  you  see,  sir,  your  description  might  apply  to  a  good 
many ;  but  if  it's  the  man  I  think  you  mean,  he  lives  in  one  of 
the  cottages  behind  the  church.     Old  Barlow,  they  call  jiim." 

"  There  can't  be  two  such  men — he  must  be  at  least  a  hun- 
dred years  old.  If  any  one  told  me  he  were  a  hundred  and 
twenty  I  shouldn't  be  inclined  to  doubt  the  fact.  I  never,  nev- 
er saw  such  a  shriveled,  wrinkled  visage,  bloodless,  too,  as  if 
the  poor  old  wretch  never  felt  your  fresh  mountain  air  upon 
his  hollow  cheeks.  A  dreadful  face.  .It  will  haunt  me  for  a 
month." 

"  It  must  be  old  Barlow,"  replied  Steadman.  "  Good-day, 
sir." 

He  walked  on  with  his  swinging  step,  and  at  such  a  pace 
that  he  was  up  the  side  of  the  Fell  and  close  upon  old  Barlow's 
heels  when  Hammond  turned  to  look  after  him  five  minutes 
later. 

"  There's  a  man  who  shows  few  traces  of  age  at  any  rate," 
thought  Hammond.  "  Yet  her  Ladyship  told  me  that  he  is  over 
sixty," 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    OLD    MAN    ON    THE    FELL. 

Having  made  up  his  mind  to  stay  at  f'ellside  until  after  Eas- 
ter, Maulevrier  settled  down  very  quietly — for  him.  He  rode 
a  good  deal,  fished  a  little,  looked  after  his  dogs,  played  bill- 
iards, made  a  devout  appearance  in  the  big  square  pew  at  St. 
Oswald's  on  Sunday  mornings,  and  behaved  altogether  as  a  re- 
formed character.  Even  his  grandmother  was  fain  to  admit 
10 


146  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

that  Maulevrier  was  improved,  and  that  Mr.  Hammon  S  influ- 
ence upon  him  must  be  exercised  for  good  and  not  for  evil. 

"  I  plunged  awfully  last  year,  and  the  year  before  that,"  said 
Maulevrier,  sitting  at  tea  in  her  Ladyship's  morning-room  one 
afternoon  about  a  week  after  his  return,  when  she  had  ex- 
pressed her  gracious  desire  that  the  two  young  men  should 
take  tea  with  her. 

Mary  was  in  charge  of  the  tea-pot  and  brass  kettle,  and  look- 
ed radiant  and  as  fresh  as  a  summer  morning.  A  regular 
Gainsborough  girl,  Hammond  called  her,  when  he  praised  her 
to  her  brother ;  a  true  English  beauty,  unsophisticated,  a  little 
rustic,  but  full  of  youthful  sweetness. 

"  You  see,  I  didn't  know  what  a  racing  stable  meant,"  con- 
tinued Maulevrier,  mildly  apologetic,  "  in  fact,  I  thought  it  was 
a  fine  way  for  a  nobleman  to  make  as  good  a  living  as  your  city 
swells,  with  their  soft  goods  or  their  Brummagem  ware,  a  re- 
spectable trade  for  a  gentleman  to  engage  in.  And  it  was  only 
when  I  was  half  ruined  that  I  began  to  understand  the  business'; 
and  as  soon  as  I  did  understand  it  I  made  up  my  mind  to  get 
out  of  it ;  and  I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  sold  the  very  last  of  my 
stud  in  February,  and  Tony  Lumpkin  is  his  own  man  again. 
So  you  may  welcome  the  prodigal  grandson  and  order  the  calf 
to  be  slain,  grandmother  !  " 

Lady  Maulevrier  stretched  out  her  left  hand  to  him,  and  the 
young  man  bent  over  it  and  kissed  it  affectionately.  He  felt 
really  touched  by  her  misfortunes,  and  was  fonder  of  her  than 
he  had  ever  been  before.  She  had  been  somewhat  hard  with 
him  in  his  boyhood,  but  she  had  always  cared  for  his  dignity, 
and  protected  his  interests ;  and  after  all  she  was  a  noble  old 
woman,  a  grandmother  of  whom  a  man  might  be  justly  proud. 
He  thought  of  the  painted  harridans,  the  bare-shouldered  skele- 
tons, whom  some  of  his  young  friends  were  obliged  to  own  in 
the  same  capacity,  and  he  was  thankful  that  he  could  reverence 
his  father's  mother. 

"  That  is  the  best  news  I  have  heard  for  a  long  time,  Maule- 
vrier, better  medicine  for  my  nerves  than  any  of  Mr.  Horton's 
preparations.  If  Mr.  Hammond's  advice  has  influenced  you  to 
get  rid  of  your  stable  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  Mr.  Hammond." 

Hammond  smiled  as  he  sipped  his  tea,  sitting  close  to  Mail's 
tray,  ready  to  fly  to  her  assistance  on  the  instant  should  the  bra- 
zen kettle  become  troublesome.  It  had  a  threatening  way  of 
hissing  and  bubbling  over  its  spirit  lamp. 

"Oh,  you  have  no  idea  what  a  fellow  Hammond  is  to  lecture. 
He  is  a  tremendous  Radical  and  he  thinks  that  every  young  man 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  147 

in  my  position  ought  to  be  a  reformer,  and  devote  the  greater 
part  of  his  time  and  trouble  to  turning  out  the  dirty  corners  of 
the  world,  upsetting  those  poor  dear  families  who  like  to  pig  to- 
gether in  one  room,  ordering  all  the  children  off  to  school,  marry- 
ing the  fathers  and  mothers,  thrusting  himself  between  free  labor 
anii  free  beer,  and  interfering  with  the  liberty  of  the  subject  in 
ever}^  direction." 

"  All  that  may  sound  like  radicalism,  but  I  think  it  is  the  true 
conservatism  and  that  every  young  man  ought  to  do  as  much,  if 
he  wants  this  timevvorn  old  country  to  maintain  its  strength  and 
prosperity,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier,  with  an  improving  glance 
at  John  Hammond's  thoughtful  face. 

"  Right  you  are,  grandmamma,"  returned  Maulevrier,  "  and  I 
believe  Hammond  calls  himself  a  Conservative  and  means  to 
vote  with  the  Conservatives." 

"  Means  to  vote — an  idle  phrase,  surely,"  thought  her  Lady- 
ship, where  the  young  man's  chance  of  getting  into  Parliament 
was  so  remote. 

That  afternoon  tea  in  Lady  Maulevrier's  room  was  almost  as 
cheerful  as  the  tea-drinkings  in  the  drawing-room,  unrestrained 
by  her  Ladyship's  presence.  She  was  pleased  with  her  grand- 
son's conduct,  and  was  therefore  inclined  to  be  friendly  to  his 
friend.  She  could  see  an  improvement  in  Mary,  too.  The  girl 
was  more  feminine,  more  subdued,  graver,  sweeter ;  more  like 
that  ideal  woman  of  Wordsworth's,  whose  image  embodies  all 
that  is  purest  and  fairest  in  womanhood. 

Mary  had  not  forgotten  that  unlucky  story  about  the  fox-hunt, 
and  ever  since  Hammond's  return  she  had  been,  as  it  were,  on 
her  best  behavior,  refraining  from  her  races  with  the  terriers, 
and  hokUng  herself  aloof  from  Maulevrier's  masculine  pursuits. 
She  sheltered  herself  a  good  deal  under  Miss  Kirsch's  substan- 
tial wing,  and  took  care  never  to  intrude  herself  upon  the  amuse- 
ments of  her  brother  and  his  friend.  She  was  not  one  of  those 
young  women  who  think  a  brother's  presence  an  excuse  for  a 
perpetual  tete-a-tete  with  a  young  man.  Yet  when  Maulevrier 
came  in  quest  of  her  and  entreated  her  to  join  them  in  a  ramble 
she  was  not  too  prudish  to  refuse  the  pleasure  she  so  thoroughly 
enjoyed.  But  afternoon  tea  was  her  privileged  hour — the  time 
at  which  she  wore  her  prettiest  frock  and  forgot  to  regret  her  in- 
feriority to  Lesbia  in  all  the  graces  of  womanhood. 

One  afternoon  when  they  had  all  three  walked  to  Easedale 
tarn,  and  were  coming  back  by  the  side  of  the  force,  picking 
their  way  among  the  gray  stones  and  the  narrow  threads  of  sil- 
very water,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  Hammond  to  ask  Mary  about 


148  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

that  queer  old  man  he  had  seen  on  the  Fell  nearly  a  fortnight  be- 
fore. He  had  often  thought  of  making  the  inquiry  when  he  was 
avv^ay  from  Mary,  but  had  always  forgotten  the  thing  when  he 
was  with  her.  Indeed  Mary  had  a  wonderful  knack  of  making 
him  forget  everything  but  herself. 

"  You  seem  to  know  every  creature  in  Grasmere,  down  to  the 
two-year  old  babies,"  said  Hammond,  Mary  having  just  stopped 
to  converse  with  an  infantine  group,  straggling  and  struggling 
over  the  boulders.  "  Pray  do  you  happen  to  know  a  man  called 
Barlow,  a  very  old  man." 

"  Old  Sam  Barlow,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  why  of  course  I  know 
him." 

She  said  it  as  if  he  were  a  near  relative,  and  the  question  pal- 
pably absurd. 

''  He  is  an  old  man,  a  hundred,  at  least,  I  should  think,"  said 
Hammond. 

*'  Poor  old  Sam,  not  much  on  the  wrong  side  of  eighty.  I  go  to 
see  him  every  week,  and  take  his  week's  tobacco,  poor  old  dear. 
It  is  his  only  comfort." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Hammond.  "  I  should  have  doubted  his  hav- 
ing so  humanizing  a  taste  as  tobacco.  He  looks  too  evil  a  creat- 
ure ever  to  have  yielded  to  the  softening  influence  of  a  pipe  ?  " 

"  An  evil  creature  !  What,  old  Sam  ?  Why  he  is  the  most  gen- 
ial old  thing,  and  as  cheery — loves  to  hear  the  newspaper  read 
to  him — the  murders  and  railway  accidents.  He  doesn't  care 
for  politics.     Everybody  likes  old  Sam  Barlow." 

"  I  fancy  the  Grasmere  idea  of  reverend  and  amiable  age  must 
be  strictly  local.  I  can  only  say  that  I  never  saw  a  more  un- 
holy countenance." 

"  You  must  have  been  dreaming  when  you  saw  him,"  said 
Mary.     "  Where  did  you  meet  him  ?  " 

"  On  the  Fell,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  shrubbery 
gate." 

"  Did  you  ?  I  shouldn't  have  thought  he  could  have  got  so 
far.  I've  a  good  mind  to  take  you  to  see  him,  this  very  after- 
noon, before  we  go  home." 

"  Do,"  exclaimed  Hammond,  "  I  should  like  it  immensely.  I 
thought  him  a  hateful  looking  old  person,  but  there  was  some- 
thing so  thoroughly  uncanny  about  him  that  he  exercised  an  ab- 
solute fascination  upon  me  ;  he  magnetized  me,  I  think,  as  the 
green-eyed  cat  magnetizes  the  bird.  I  have  been  positively  long- 
ing to  see  him  agaiji.  He  is  a  kind  of  human  monster,  and  I 
ho^pe  some  one  will  have  a  big  bottle  made  ready  for  him  and 
•  preserve  him  in  spirits  when  he  dies." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  149 

'*  What  a  horrid  idea.  No,  sir,  dear  old  Barlow  shall  lie  be- 
side the  Rotha,  under  the  trees  Wordsworth  planted.  He  is  such 
a  man  as  Wordsworth  would  have  loved." 

Mr.  Hammond  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said  no  more. 
Mary's  little  vehement  ways,  her  enthusiasm,  her  love  of  that  val- 
lev,  which  might  be  called  her  native  place  albeit  her  eyes  had 
opened  upon  heaven's  light  far  away,  her  humility  were  all  very 
delightful  in  their  way.  She  w^as  not  a  perfect  beauty,  like  Les- 
bia  ;  but  she  was  a  fresh,  pure-minded  English  girl,  frank  as  the 
day,  and  if  he  had  a  brother  he  would  have  recommended  that 
brother  to  choose  just  such  a  girl  for  his  wife. 

Mr.  Sam.uel  Barlow  occupied  a  little  old  cottage  which  seemed 
to  consist  chiefly  of  a  gable  end  and  a  chimney  stack,  in  that  clus- 
ter of  dwellings  behind  St.  Oswald's  Church,  which  was  once 
known  as  the  Kirk  town.  Visitors  went  downstairs  to  get  to  Mr. 
Barlow's  ground  floor,  for  the  influence  of  time  and  advancing 
civilization  had  been  to  raise  the  pathway  in  front  of  Mr. 
Barlow's  cottage  until  his  parlor  had  become  of  a  cellar-like 
aspect.  Yet  it  was  a  very  nice  little  parlor  when  one  got  down 
to  it,  and  it  enjoyed  in  Winter  and  Summer  a  perpetual  twilight, 
since  the  light  that  crept  through  the  leaded  casement  was  tem- 
pered by  a  screen  of  flowerpots,  which  were  old  Barlow's  par- 
ticular care.  There  were  no  finer  geraniums  in  all  Grasmere 
than  Barlow's,  no  bigger  carnations  or  picotees,  asters  or  arums. 

It  was  about  Ave  o'clock  in  the  March  afternoon,  when  Mary 
ushered  John  Hammond  into  Mr.  Barlow's  dwelling,  and  in  the 
dim  glow  of  a  cheery  little  fire  and  the  faint  light  that  filtered 
through  the  screen  and  geranium  leaves  the  visitor  looked  for  a 
moment  or  so  doubtfully  at  the  owner  of  the  cottage.  But  only 
for  a  moment.  Those  bright  blue  eyes  and  apple  cheeks,  that 
benevolent  expression  bore  no  likeness  to  the  strange  old  man 
he  had  seen  on  the  Fell.  Mr.  Barlow  was  toothless  and  nut- 
cracker like  of  outline,  he  was  thin  and  shrunken,  and  bent  with 
the  burden  of  long  years ;  but  the  healthy  visage  had  none  of 
those  deep  lines,  those  cross  markings  and  hollows  which  made 
the  pallid  countenance  of  that  other  old  man  as  ghastly  as  would 
be  the  abstract  idea  of  life's  last  stage  embodied  by  the  bitter 
pencil  of  a  Hogarth. 

"  I  have  brought  a  gentleman  from  London  to  see  you,  Sam," 
said  Mary.  "  He  fancied  he  met  you  on  the  Fell  the  other  morn- 
ing." 

Barlow  rose  and  quavered  a  cheery  welcome,  but  protested 
against  the  idea  of  his  having  got  so  far  as  the  Fell. 

"  With  my  blessed  rheumatics,  you  know  it  isn't  in  me,  Lady 


I50  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Mary.  I  shall  never  get  no  further  than  the  churchyard ;  but  I 
likes  to  sit  on  the  wall  hard  by  Wordsworth's  tomb  in  a  warm 
afternoon  and  to  see  the  folks  pass  over  the  bridge,  and  I  can 
potter  about  looking  after  my  flowers,  i  can.  But  it  would  be  a 
dull  life  now  the  poor  old  missus  is  gone,  and  the  bairns  all  out 
at  service,  if  it  wasn't  for  some  one  dropping  in  to  have  a  chat, 
or  read  to  me  a  bit  of  news  sometimes.  And  there  isn't  any- 
body in  Grasmere,  gentle  or  simple,  that's  kinder  to  me  than 
you.  Lady  Mary.  Lord  bless  you.  I  do  look  forward  to  my 
newspaper.     Any  more  of  them  dreadful  smashes  ?  " 

"  No,  Sam,  thank  Heaven,  there  have  been  no  more  railway 
accidents." 

"Ah,  we  shall  have  'em  in  August  and  September,"  said  the 
old  man,  cheerily.  "They're  bound  to  come  then.  There's 
time  for  all  things,  as  Solomon  says.  When  the  season  comes 
the  smashes  will  come.  And  no  more  of  these  m.ysterious 
murders,  I  suppose,  which  baffle  the  police  and  keep  me  awake 
o'  nights  thinkin'  of  'em !  " 

"  Surely  you  don't  delight  in  murder,  Mr.  Barlow,"  said  Ham- 
mond. 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not  wish  my  fellow-creatures  to  make  away 
with  each  other ;  but  if  there  is  a  murder  going  in  the  papers  I 
like  to  get  the  benefit  of  it.  I  like  to  sit  in  front  of  my  fire  of 
an  evening  and  wonder  about  it  while  I  smoke  my  pipe,  and  I 
fancy  I  can  see  the  murderer  hiding  in  a  garret  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  alley,  or  as  a  stowaway  on  board  a  big  ship,  or  as  a  miner 
deep  down  in  a  coal  pit,  and  never  thinkmg  that  even  there  the 
police  can  track  him.    Did  you  ever  hear  of  Mr.  de  Quincey,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  have  read  every  line  he  ever  wrote." 

"  Ah,  you  should  have  heard  him  talk  about  murders.  It 
would  have  made  you  dream  queer  dreams,  just  as  he  did.  He 
lived  for  3/ears  in  the  white  cottage  that  Wordsworth  once  lived 
in,  just  behind  the  street  yonder — a  nice  neat  little  gentleman, 
in  a  houseful  of  books.  I've  had  many  a  talk  with  him  when  I 
was  a  young  man." 

"  And  how  old  may  you  be  now,  Mr.  Barlow  ^  " 

"  Getting  on  for  eighty-four,  sir." 

"  But  you  are  not  the  oldest  man  in  Grasmere,  I  should  say 
by  twenty  years  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  there's  many  much  older  than  me,  sir." 

"The  man  I  saw  on  the  Fell  looked  at  least  a  hundred.  I 
wish  you  could  tell  me  who  he  is,  I  feel  a  morbid  curiosity  about 
him." 

He  went  on  to  describe  the  old  man  in  the  gray  coat  as  mi- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 


151 


nutely  as  he  could,  dwelling  on  every  characteristic  of  that  sin- 
gular looking  old  person ;  but  Samuel  Barlow  could  not  identify 
the  description  with  any  one  in  Grasmere.  Yet  a  man  of  that 
age,  seen  walking  on  the  hill-side  at  eight  in  the  morning,  could 
hardly  have  come  from  far  afield. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

LADY   MAULEVRIER'S   LETTER-BAG. 

Although  Maulevrier  had  assured  his  grandmother  that 
John  Hammond  would  take  flight  at  the  first  warning  of  Lesbia's 
return.  Lady  Maulevrier's  dread  of  any  meeting  between  her 
granddaughter  and  that  ineligible  lover  determined  her  in  mak- 
ing such  arrangements  as  should  banish  Lesbia  from  Fellside 
so  long  as  there  seemed  the  slightest  danger  of  such  a  meeting. 
She  knew  that  Lesbia  had  loved  her  fortuneless  lover;  and  she 
did  not  know  that  the  wound  was  cured,  even  by  a  season  in 
tlie  little-great  world  of  Cannes.  Now  that  she,  the  ruler  of 
that  household,  was  a  helpless  captive  in  her  own  apartments, 
she  felt  Lesbia  at  Fellside  would  be  her  own  mistress,  and 
hemmed  round  with  the  dangers  that  beset  richly-dowered  beauty 
and  inexperienced  youth. 

Mr.  Hammond  might  be  playing  a  very  deep  game,  perhaps 
assisted  by  Maulevrier.  He  might  ostensibly  leave  Fellside 
before  Lesbia's  return,  yet  lurk  in  the  neighborhood,  and  con- 
trive to  meet  her  every  day.  If  Maulevrier  encouraged  this 
folly,  they  might  be  married  and  over  the  border  before  her 
Ladyship — fettered,  impotent,  as  she  was — could  interfere. 

Lady  Maulevrier  felt  that  Georgie  Kirkbank  was  her  strong 
rock.  So  long  as  Lesbia  was  under  that  astute  veteran's  wing 
there  could  be  no  danger.  In  that  embodied  essence  of  worldli- 
ness  and  diplomacy,  there  was  an  ever-present  defense  from  all 
temptations  that  spring  from  romance  and  youthful  impulses. 
It  was  a  bitter  thing  perhaps  to  steep  a  young  and  pure  soul  in 
such  an  atmosphere,  to  harden  a  fresh  nature  in  the  fiery  cruci- 
ble of  fashionable  life ;  but  Lady  Maulevrier  believed  that  the 
end  would  sanctify  the  means.  Lesbia,  once  married  to  a 
v/orthy  man,  such  a  man  as  Lord  Hartfield,  for  instance,  would 
soon  rise  to  a  higher  level  than  that  Belgravian  swamp  over 
which  the  malarial  vapors  of  falsehood,  and  slander,  and  self- 
seeking,  and  prurient  imaginings  hang  dense  and  thick.     She 


152  PHANTOM  FORTUNES 

would  rise  to  the  loftier  table-land  of  that  really  great  world 
which  governs  and  admonishes  the  ruck  of  mankind  by  examples 
of  noble  deeds  and  noble  thoughts ;  the  world  of  statesmen, 
and  soldiers,  and  thinkers,  and  reformers:,  the  salt  wherewithal 
society  is  salted. 

But  while  Lesbia  was  treading  the  tortuous  mazes  of  fashion, 
it  was  well  for  her  to  be  guided  and  guarded  by  such  an  old 
campaigner  as  Lady  Kirkbank,  a  woman  who,  in  the  language 
of  her  friends,  "  knew  the  ropes." 

Lesbia's  last  letter  had  been  to  the  effect  that  she  was  to  go 
back  to  London  with  the  Kirkbanks  directly  after  Easter,  and 
that  directly  they  arrived  she  would  set  off  with  her  maid  for 
Fellside,  to  spend  a  week  or  fortnight  with  her  dearest  grand- 
mother, before  going  back  to  Arlington  Street  for  the  May  cam- 
paign. 

"  And  then,  dearest,  I  hope  you  will  make  up  your  mind  to 
spend  the  season  in  London,"  wrote  Lesbia.  "  I  shall  expect 
to  hear  that  you  have  secured  Lord  Bolingbroke's  house.  How 
dreadfully  slow  your  poor  dear  hand  is  to  recover.  I  am  afraid 
Horton  is  not  treating  the  case  cleverly.  Why  do  you  not  send 
for  Mr.  Ericsen  ?  It  is  a  shock  to  my  nerves  every  time  I  re- 
ceive a  letter  in  Mary's  masculine  hand,  instead  of  in  your  lovely 
Italian  penmanship.  Strange,  isn't  it,  how  much  better  the 
women  of  past  generations  write  than  the  girls  of  the  present  ? 
Lady  Kirkbank  receives  letters  from  stylish  girls  in  a  hand  that 
would  disgrace  a  housemaid." 

Lady  Maulevrier  allowed  a  post  to  go  by  before  she  answered 
this  letter  while  she  deliberated  upon  the  best  and  wisest  man- 
ner of  arranging  her  granddaughter's  future.  It  was  an  agony 
to  her  not  to  be  able  to  write  with  her  own  hand,  to  be  obliged 
to  so  shape  every  sentence  that  Mary  might  learn  nothing  which 
she  ought  not  to  know.  It  was  impossible  with  such  an  aman- 
uensis to  write  confidentially  to  Lady  Kirkbank.  The  letters 
to  Lesbia  were  of  less  consequence ;  for  Lesbia,  albeit  so  in- 
tensely beloved,  was  not  in  her  grandmother's  confidence,  least 
of  all  about  those  schemes  and  dreams  which  concerned  her 
own  fate. 

However,  the  letters  had  to  be  written,  so  Mary  was  told  to 
open  her  desk  and  begin. 

The  letter  to  Lesbia  ran  thus  : 

"  My  Dearest  Child — This  is  a  world  in  which  our  brightest 
day-dreams  generally  end  in  mere  dreaming.  For  years  past  I 
have  cherished  the  hope  of  presenting  you  to  your  sovereign, 
to  whom  I  was  presented  six-and-forty  years  ago  when  she  was 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  153 

SO  fair  and  girlish  a  creature  that  she  seemed  to  me  more  like 
a  queen  in  a  fairy  tale  than  the  actual  ruler  of  a  great  country. 
I  have  beguiled  my  monotonous  days  with  thoughts  of  the  time 
when  I  should  return  to  the  great  world,  full  of  pride  and  de- 
light in  showing  old  friends  what  a  sweet  flower  I  had  reared 
in  my  mountain  home  ;  but,  alas,  Lesbia,  it  may  not  be. 

"Fate  has  willed  otherwise.  The  maimed  hand  does  not  re- 
cover, although  Horton  is  very  clever,  and  thoroughly  under- 
stands my  case.  I  am  not  ill.  I  am  not  in  danger,  so  you  need 
feel  no  anxiety  about  me ;  but  I  am  a  cripple,  and  I  am  likely 
to  remain  so  for  months ;  so  the  idea  of  a  London  season  this 
year  is  hopeless. 

"  Now,  as  you  have  in  a  manner  made  your  debut  at  Cannes, 
it  would  never  do  to  bury  you  here  for  another  year.  You  com- 
plained of  the  dullness  last  Summer,  but  you  would  find  Fellside 
much  duller  now  that  you  have  tasted  the  elixir  of  life.  No, 
my  dear  love,  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  be  presented  as  Lady 
Kirkbank  proposes,  at  the  first  drawing-room  after  Easter,  and 
Lady  Kirkbank  will  have  to  present  you.  She  will  be  pleased 
to  do  this,  I  know,  for  her  letters  are  full  of  enthusiasm  about 
vou.  And  after  all  I  do  not  think  you  will  lose  by  the  exchange. 
Clever  as  I  think  myself,  I  fear  I  should  have  been  sorely  at 
fault  in  the  society  of  to-day.  All  things  are  changed,  opinions, 
manners,  creeds,  morals  even.  Acts  that  were  crimes  in  my 
day  are  now  venial  errors — opinions  that  were  scandalous  are 
now  the  mark  of  '  advanced  thought.'  I  should  be  too  formal 
for  this  easy-going  age,  should  be  ridiculed  as  old-fashioned 
and  narrow-minded,  should  put  you  to  the  blush  a  dozen  times 
a  day  by  my  prejudices  and  opinions. 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  think  of  traveling  all  this  distance  to 
see  me  ;  and  I  should  love  to  look  at  your  sweet  face  and  hear 
you  describe  your  new  experiences  ;  but  I  could  not  allow  you 
to  travel  with  only  the  protection  of  a  maid,  and  there  are  many 
reasons  why  I  think  it  better  to  defer  the  meeting  till  the  end 
of  the  season,  when  Lady  Kirkbank  will  bring  my  treasure  back 
to  me,  eager  to  tell  me  the  history  of  all  the  hearts  she  has 
broken." 

The  Dowager's  letter  to  Lady  Kirkbank  was  brief  and  busi- 
ness-like. She  could  only  hope  that  her  old  friend  Georgie, 
whose  acuteness  she  knew  of  old,  would  divine  her  feelings  and 
her  wishes  without  being  explicitly  told  what  they  were. 

"  My  Dear  Georgie — I  am  too  ill  to  leave  this  house  :  indeed, 
I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  leave  it  till  I  am  taken  away  in  mycofiin  ; 
but  please  say  nothing  to  alarm  Lesbia.     Indeed,  there  is  no 


1 54  PHANTOM  FOR  TUA-E. 

ground  for  fear,  as  I  am  not  dangerously  ill,  and  may  drag  out 
an  imprisonment  of  long  years  before  the  coffin  comes  to  fetch 
me.  There  are  reasons,  which  you  will  understand,  why  Lesbia 
should  not  come  here  until  after  the  season ;  so  please  keep  her 
in  Arlington  Street,  and  occupy  her  mind  as  much  as  you  can 
with  the  preparations  for  her  first  campaign.  I  give  you  carte 
blanch.  If  Carson  is  still  in  business  I  should  like  her  to  make 
my  girl's  gowns,  but  you  must  please  yourself  in  this  matter,  as 
it  is  quite  possible  that  Carson  is  a  little  behind  the  times. 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  present  my  darling,  and  to  deal  with  her 
exactly  as  if  she  were  a  daughter  of  your  own.  I  think  you 
know  all  my  views  and  hopes  about  her,  and  I  feel  that  I  can 
trust  to  your  friendship  in  this  my  day  of  need.  The  dream  of 
my  life  has  been  to  launch  her  myself,  and  direct  her  every  step 
in  the  mazes  of  her  life  ;  but  that  dream  is  over.  I  have  kept 
age  and  infirmity  at  a  distance,  and  have  even  forgotten  that  the 
years  were  going  by ;  and  now  I  find  myself  an  old  woman  all 
at  once,  and  my  golden  dream  has  all  vanished." 

Lady  Kirkbank's  reply  came  by  return  of  post,  and  iiappil}'- 
this  gushing  epistle  had  not  to  be  submitted  to  Mary's  eye. 

"  My  Dearest  Di — My  heart  positively  bleeds  for  you.  What 
is  the  matter  with  your  hand,  that  you  talk  of  being  a  life-long 
prisoner  to  your  room  ?  Pray  send  for  Paget  or  Ericsen,  and 
have  yourself  put  right  at  once.  No  doubt  that  local  simpleton 
is  making  a  mess  of  your  case.  Perhaps  while  he  is  dabbling 
with  lint  and  lotions  the  real  remedy  is  the  knife.  I  am  sure 
amputation  would  be  less  melancholy  than  the  despondent  state 
of  feeling  which  you  are  now  suffering.  If  any  limb  of  mine 
went  wrong  I  should  say  to  the  surgeon,  cut  it  off,  and  patch 
up  the  stump  in  your  best  style ;  I  give  you  a  fortnight,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  time  I  expect  to  be  going  to  parties  again.  Life 
is  not  long  enough  for  dawdling  surgery. 

"  As  regards  Lesbia,  I  can  only  say  that  I  adore  her,  and  I  am 
enchanted  at  the  idea  that  I  am  to  run  her  myself.  I  intend 
her  to  be  the  beauty  of  the  season — not  one  of  the  loveliest  de- 
butantes, or  any  rot  of  that  kind — but  just  the  girl  that  eveiy- 
body  will  be  crazy  about.  There  shall  be  a  mob  wherever  she 
appears,  Di,  I  promise  you  that.  There  is  no  one  in  London 
who  can  work  a  thing  of  that  kind  better  than  your  humble  ser- 
vant. And  when  once  the  girl  is  the  talk  of  the  town  all  the 
rest  is  easy.  She  can  choose  for  herself  among  the  very  best 
men  in  society.  Offers  will  pour  in  as  thickly  as  circulars  from 
undertakers  and  mourning  warehouses,  after  a  death. 

"  Lesbia  is  so  cool-headed  and  sensible  that  I  have  not  the  least 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  155 

doubt  of  her  success.  With  an  impulsive  or  romantic  girl  there 
is  always  the  fear  of  a  fiasco.  But  this  sweet  child  of  yours  has 
been  well  brought  up  and  knows  her  own  value.  She  behaved 
like  a  queen  here,  where  I  need  not  tell  you  society  is  just  a 
little  mixed,  though,  of  course,  we  only  cultivate  our  own  set. 
Your  heart  would  swell  with  pride  if  you  could  see  the  way  she 
puts  down  men  who  are  not  quite  good  style  ;  and  the  ease  with 
which  she  crushes  those  odious  American  girls,  with  their  fine 
complexions  and  coarse  manners. 

"  Be  assured  that  I  shall  guard  her  as  the  apple  of  my  eye,  and 
that  the  detrimental  who  circumvents  me  will  be  a  very  Satan  of 
schemers. 

"  I  can  but  smile  at  your  mention  of  Carson,  whose  gowns  used 
to  fit  us  so  well  in  our  girlish  days,  and  whose  bills  seem  mod- 
erate compared  with  the  exorbitant  accounts  I  get  now. 

"  Carson  has  long  been  forgotten,  my  dear  soul — gone  with  the 
snows  of  last  year.  A  long  procession  of  fashionable  French 
dressmakers  has  passed  across  the  stage  since  her  time,  like  the 
phantom  kings  in  Macbeth  ;  and  now  the  last. rage  is  to  have  our 
gowns  made  by  an  Englishwoman  who  works  for  the  Princess,  or 
an  Irishwoman  who  is  employed  by  all  the  best  actresses.  It 
is  to  the  latter,  Kate  Kearney,  I  shall  intrust  our  sweet  Lesbia's 
toilettes." 

The  same  post  brought  a  loving  letter  from  Lesbia,  full  of  regret 
at  not  being  allowed  to  go  down  to  Fellside,  and  yet  full  of  de- 
light at  the  prospect  of  her  first  season. 

"  Lady  Kirkbank  and  I  have  been  discussing  my  court  dress," 
she  wrote,  "  and  we  have  decided  upon  a  white  velvet  train  with 
a  border  of  marabouts,  over  a  satin  petticoat  embroidered  with 
seed  pearl.  It  will  be  dear,  but  we  know  you  will  not  mind  that. 
Lady  Kirkbank  takes  the  idea  from  the  costume  Buckingham 
wore  at  the  Louvre  the  first  time  he  met  Anne  of  Austria.  Isn't 
that  clever  of  her  ?  She  is  not  a  deep  thinker  like  you ;  is  hor- 
ribly ignorant  of  science,  metaphysics,  poetry  even.  She  asked 
me  one  day  who  Plato  was,  and  whether  he  took  his  name  from 
the  battle  of  Platcea,  and  she  says  she  never  could  understand 
why  people  make  a  fuss  about  Shakespeare  ;  but  she  has  read 
all' the  secret  histories  and  memoirs  that  ever  were  written,  and 
knows  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  court  life  and  high  life  for  the  last 
three  hundred  years  ;  and  there  is  not  a  person  in  the  peerage 
whose  family  history  she  has  not  at  her  fingers'  ends,  except  my 
grandfather.  When  I  asked  her  to  tell  me  all  about  Lord  Mau- 
levrier  and  his  achievements  as  Governor  of  Madras,  she  had 
not  a  word  to  say.     So,  perhaps,  she  draws  upon  her  invention 


1  s6  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  -  —  ' 

a  little  in  talking  about  other  people,  and  felt  herself  restrained 
when  she  came  to  speak  of  my  grandfather." 

This  passage  in  Lesbia's  letter  affected  Lady  Maulevrier  as 
if  a  scorpion  had  wriggled  from  underneath  the  sheet  of  paper. 
She  folded  the  letter  and  laid  it  in  the  satin-lined  box  on  her 
table  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Yes,  she  is  in  the  world  now,  and  she  will  ask  questions.  I 
have  never  warned  her  against  pronouncing  her  grandmother's 
name.  There  are  some  who  will  not  be  so  kind  as  Georgie 
Kirkbank  !  some,  perhaps,  who  will  delight  in  humiliating  her, 
and  who  will  tell  her  the  worst  that  can  be  told.  My  only  hope 
is  that  she  will  make  a  great  marriage,  and  speedily.  Once  the 
wife  of  a  man  with  a  high  place  in  the  world,  worldlings  will  be 
too  wise  to  wound  her  by  telling  her  that  her  grandfather  was 
an  unconvicted  felon." 

The  die  was  cast.  Lady  Maulevrier  might  dread  the  hazard 
of  evil  tongues,  of  slanderous  memories  ;  but  she  could  not  re- 
call her  consent  to  Lesbia's  debut.  The  girl  was  already  launch- 
ed ;  she  had  been  seen  and  admired.  The  next  stage  in  her  ca- 
reer must  be  to  be  wooed  and  won  by  a  worthy  winner. 


CHAPTER  XXI.  . 

ON  THE  DARK  BROW  OF  HELVELLYN. 

While  these  plans  were  being  settled,  and  while  Lesbia's  fut- 
ure was  the  all-absorbing  subject  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  thoughts, 
Mary  contrived  to  be  happier  than  she  had  ever  been  in  her  life 
before.  It  was  happiness  that  grew  and  strengthened  with  every 
day;  and  yet  there  was  no  obvious  reason  for  this  deep  joy. 
Her  life  ran  in  the  same  familiar  groove.  She  walked  and  rode 
on  the  old  pathways  ;  she  rowed  on  the  lake  she  had  known  from 
babyhood;  she  visited  her  cottagers,  and  taught  in  the  village 
school,  just  the  same  as  of  old.  The  change  was  only  that  she 
was  no  longer  alone  ;  and  of  late  the  solitude  of  her  life,  the 
ever  present  consciousness  that  nobody  shared  her  pleasures  or 
sympathized  with  her  upon  any  point  had  weighed  upon  her  like 
an  actual  burden.  Now  she  had  Maulevrier,  who  was  always 
kind,  who  understood  and  shared  almost  all  her  tastes,  and  Mau- 
levrier's friend,  who,  although  not  given  to  saying  smooth  things, 
seemed  warmly  interested  in  her  pursuits  and  opinions.  He  en- 
couraged her  to  talk,  although  he  generally  took  the  opposite 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  157 

side  in  every  argument ;  and  she  no  longer  felt  oppressed  or  ir- 
ritated by  the  idea  that  he  despised  her. 

Indeed,  although  he  never  flattered  or  even  praised  her,  Mr. 
Hammond  demonstrated  that  he  liked  her  society.  She  had 
gone  out  of  her  way  to  avoid  him,  very  fearful  lest  he  should 
think  her  bold  or  masculine  ;  but  he  had  taken  pains  to  frustrate 
all  her  efforts  to  avoid  him  ;  he  had  refused  to  go  upon  excur- 
sions which  she  could  not  share.  "  Lady  Mary  must  come  with 
us,"  he  said,  when  they  were  planning  a  morning's  ramble. 
Thus  it  happened  that  Mary  was  his  guide  and  companion  in  all 
his  walks,  and  roamed  with  him,  bamboo  in  hand,  over  every  one 
of  those  mountain  paths  she  knew  and  loved  so  well.  Distance 
was  as  nothing  to  them — sometimes  a  boat  helped  them,  and  they 
went  over  wintry  Windermere  to  climb  the  heights  above  Bow- 
ness.  Sometimes  they  took  ponies,  and  a  groom,  and  left  their 
steeds  to  perform  the  wilder  part  of  the  way  on  foot.  In  this 
wise  John  Hammond  saw  all  that  was  to  be  seen  within  a  day's 
journey  of  Grasmere,  except  the  top  of  Helvellyn.  Maulevrier 
had  shirked  the  expedition,  had  always  put  off  Mary  and  Mr. 
Hammond  when  they  proposed  it.  The  season  was  not  ad- 
vanced enough — the  rugged  pathway  by  the  Tongue  Ghyll  would 
be  as  slippery  as  glass — no  pony  could  get  up  there  in  such 
weather. 

"  We  have  not  had  any  frost  to  speak  of  for  the  last  fortnight," 
pleaded  Mary,  who  was  particularly  anxious  to  do  the  honors 
of  Helvellyn,  as  the  real  lion  of  the  neighborhood. 

"  What  a  simpleton  you  are,  Molly,"  cried  Maulevrier.  "  Do 
you  suppose  because  there  is  no  frost  in  your  grandmother's 
garden — and  if  you  were  to  ask  Staples  about  his  peaches  he 
would  tell  you  a  very  different  story — that  there's  a  tropical  at- 
mosphere on  Dolly  Wagon  Pike.  Why,  I'd  wager  the  ice  on 
Grisdale  tarn  is  thick  enough  for  skating.  Helvellyn  won't  run 
away,  child.  You  and  Hammond  can  dance  the  Highland 
Schottische  on  Striding  Edge  in  June  if  you  like." 

"  Mr.  Hammond  won't  be  here  in  June,"  said  Mary. 

"  Who  knows — the  train  service  is  pretty  fair  between  London 
and  Windermere.  Hammond  and  I  would  think  nothing  of 
putting  ourselves  in  the  mail  on  a  Friday  night  and  coming 
down  to  spend  Saturday  or  Sunday  with  you — if  you  are  good." 

There  came  a  sunny  morning  soon  after  Easter  which  seemed 
mild  enough  for  June,  and  when  Hammond  suggested  that  this 
was  the  very  day  for  Helvellyn  Maulevrier  had  not  a  word  to 
say  against  the  "truth  of  that  proposition.  The  weather  had 
been  exceptionally  warm  for  a  week,  and  they  had  played  tennis 


158  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

and  sat  in  the  garden  just  as  if  it  had  been  actually  Summer. 
Patches  of  snow  might  still  linger  on  the  crests  of  the  hills — 
but  the  approach  to  those  bleak  heights  could  hardly  be  gla- 
cial. 

Mary  clasped  her  hands  delightedly. 

"  Dear  old  Maulevrier  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are  always 
good  to  me.  And  now  I  shall  be  able  to  show  you  the  Red 
Tarn,  the  highest  piece  of  water  in  England,"  she  said,  turning 
to  Hammond.  "  x\nd  you  will  see  Windermere,  winding  like  a 
silvery  serpent  between  the  hills,  and  Grasmere  shining  like  a 
jewel  in  the  depth  of  the  valley,  and  the  sea  glittering  like  a 
line  of  white  light  between  the  edges  of  earth  and  heaven,  and 
the  dark  Scotch  hills  far  away  to  the  north. 

"  That  is  to  say  these  things  are  all  supposed  to  be  on  view 
from  the  top  of  the  mountain ;  but  as  a  peculiar  and  altogether 
exceptional  state  of  the  atmosphere  is  essential  to  their  being 
seen,  I  need  not  tell  you  that  they  are  rarely  visible,"  said 
Maulevrier.  "  You  are  talking  to  old  mountaineers,  Molly. 
Hammond  has  done  Cotapaxi,  and  had  his  little  clamber  on  the 
equatorial  Andes,  and  I — well,  child,  I  have  done  my  Rigi,  and 
I  have  always  found  the  boasted  panorama  enveloped  in  dense 
fog." 

"  It  won't  be  foggy  to-day,"  said  Mary.  "  Shall  we  do  the 
whole  thing  on  foot,  or  shall  I  order  the  ponies  ?  " 

Mr.  Hammond  inquired  the  distance  up  and  down,  and  being 
told  that  it  involved  only  a  matter  of  eight  miles,  decided  upon 
walking. 

"  I'll  walk  and  lead  your  pony,"  he  said  to  Mary,  but  Mary  de- 
clared herself  quite  capable  of  going  on  foot,  so  the  ponies  were 
dispensed  with  as  a  possible  incumbrance. 

This  was  planned  and  discussed  in  the  garden  before  break- 
fast. Fraulein  was  told  that  Mary  was  going  for  a  long  walk 
with  her  brother  and  Mr.  Hammond  ;  a  walk  which  might  last 
over  the  usual  luncheon  hour;  so  Fraulein  was  not  to  wait 
luncheon.  Mary  went  to  her  grandmother's  room  to  pay  her 
duty  visit.  There  were  no  letters  for  her  to  write  that  morning, 
so  she  was  perfectly  free. 

The  three  pedestrians  started  an  hour  after  breakfast,  in  light 
marching  order.  The  two  young  men  wore  their  Argyleshire 
shooting  clothes — homespun  knickerbockers  and  jackets,  thick 
ribbed  hose  knitted  by  Highland  lasses  in  Inverness.  They 
carried  a  couple  of  hunting  flasks  filled  with  claret,  and  a  couple 
of  sandwich  boxes,  and  that  was  all.     Mary  wore   her  substan- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


159 


tial  tailor-gown  of  olive  tweed  and  little  toque  to  match,  with  a 
silver-mounted  grouse's  claw  for  her  only  ornament. 

It  was  a  delicious  morning,  the  air  fresh  and  sweet,  the  sun 
comfortably  warm,  a  little  too  warm,  perhaps,  presently,  when 
they  had  trodden  the  narrow  path  by  the  Tongue  Ghyll,  and 
were  beginning  to  wind  slowly  upward  over  rough  boulders 
and  last  year's  bracken,  tough  and  brown  and  tangled,  toward 
that  rugged  wall  of  earth  and  stone  tufted  with  rank  grasses,  which 
calls  itself  Dolly  Wagon  Pike.  Here  they  all  came  to  a  stand- 
still and  wiped  the  dews  of  honest  labor  from  their  foreheads; 
and  here  Maulevrier  flung  himself  down  upon  a  big  boulder, 
with  the  soles  of  his  shooting  boots  in  running  water,  and  took 
out  his  cigar  case. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?  "  he  asked  his  friend,  when  he  had 
lighted  his  cigarette.  "  I  hope  you  are  enjoying  yourself." 
"  I  never  was  happier  in  my  life,"  answered  Hammond. 
He  was  standing  on  higher  ground,  with  Mary  by  his  side, 
pointing  out  and  expatiating  upon  the  details  of  the  prospect. 
There  were  the  lakes — Grasmere,  a  disk  of  shining  blue,  Rydal, 
a  patch  of  silver,  and  Windermere,  winding  amidst  a  labyrinth 
of  wooded  hills. 

"  Aren't  you  tired  ?  "  asked  Maulevrier. 
"Not  a  whit." 

"  Oh,  I-  forgot  you  had  done  Cotapaxi ;  that  makes  a  differ- 
ence.    I  am  going  home." 

"  Oh,  Maulevrier  !  "  exclaimed  Mary,  piteously. 
"  I  am  going  home.  You  can  go  to  the  top.  You  are  both 
hardened  mountaineers  and  I  am  not  in  it  with  either  of  you. 
When  I  rashly  consented  to  a  pedestrian  ascent  of  Helvellyn  I 
had  forgotten  what  the  gentleman  was  like ;  and  as  to  Dolly 
Wagon,  I  had  actually  forgotten  her  existence.  But  now  I 
see  the  lady — as  steep  as  the  side  of  a  house  and  as  stony — no, 
naught  but  herself  can  be  her  parallel  in  stoniness.  No, 
Molly,  I  will  go  no  further." 

"  But  we  shall  go  down  on  the  other  side,"  urged  Mary.  "  It's 
a  little  steeper  on  the  Cumberland  side,  but  not  nearly  so  far." 
"  A  little  steeper  !  Can  anything  be  steeper  than  Dolly  Wag- 
on t  Yes,  you  are  right.  It  is  steeper  on  the  Cumberland  side. 
I  remember  coming  down  a  sheer  descent,  like  an  exaggerated 
sugar-loaf ;  but  I  was  on  a  pony,  and  it  was  the  brute's  lookout. 
I  will  not  go  down  the  Cumberland  side  on  my  own  legs.  No, 
Molly,  not  even  for  you.  But  if  you  and  Hammond  want  to  go 
to  the  top,  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  you.  He  is  a  skilled 
mountaineer.     I'll  trust  you  with  him." 


l6o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Mary  blushed  and  made  no  reply.  Of  all  things  in  the  world 
she  least  wanted  to  abandon  the  expedition.  Yet  to  climb  Hel- 
vellyn  alone  with  her  brother's  friend  would  no  doubt  be  a  ter- 
rible violation  of  those  laws  of  maidenly  propriety  which  Frau- 
lein  was  always  expounding.  If  Mary  were  to  do  this  thing, 
which  she  longed  to  do,  she  must  hazard  a  lecture  from  her  gov- 
erness, and  probably  a  biting  reproof  from  her  grandmother. 

"  Will  you  trust  yourself  with  me,  Lady  Mary  t  "  asked  Ham- 
mond, looking  at  her  with  a  gaze  so  earnest — so  much  more 
earnest  than  the  occasion  required — that  her  blushes  deepened 
and  her  eyelids  fell.  "  I  have  done  a  good  deal  of  climbing  in 
my  day,  and  I  am  not  afraid  of  anything  Helvellyn  can  do  to  me. 
I  promise  to  take  great  care  of  you  if  you  will  come." 

How  could  she  refuse  ?  How  could  she  for  one  moment  pre- 
tend that  she  did  not  trust  him,  that  her  heart  did  not  yearn  to 
go  with  him.  She  would  have  climbed  Cotapaxi  with  him — or 
crossed  the  great  Sahara  with  him — and  feared  nothing.  Her 
trust  in  him  was  infinite — as  infinite  as  her  reverence  and  love. 

"  I  am  afraid  Fraulein  would  make  a  fuss,"  she  faltered  after 
a  pause. 

"  Hang  Fraulein,"  cried  Maulevrier,  puffing  at  his  cigarette, 
and  kicking  about  the  stones  in  the  clear  running  water.  "  I'll 
square  it  with  Fraulein.  I'll  give  her  a  pint  of  cham,  with  her 
lunch,  and  make  her  see  everything  in  a  rosy  hue.  The  good 
soul  is  fond  of  her  Heidseck.  You  will  be  back  by  afternoon 
tea.  Why  should  there  be  any  fuss  about  the  matter  ?  Ham- 
mond wants  to  see  the  Red  Tarn,  and  you  are  dying  to  show 
him  the  way.  Go,  and  joy  go  with  you  both.  Climbing  a  stony 
hill  is  a  form  of  pleasure  to  which  I  have  not  yet  risen.  I  shall 
stroll  home  at  my  leisure,  and  spend  the  afternoon  on  the  bill- 
iard-room sofa  reading  Mudie's  last  contribution  to  the  comforts 
of  home." 

"  What  a  Sybarite,"  said  Hammond.  "  Come,  Lady  Mary,  we 
mustn't  loiter,  it  we  are  to  be  back  at  Fellside  by  five  o'clock." 

Mary  looked  at  her  brother  doubtfully,  and  he  gave  her  a  lit- 
tle nod  which  seemed  to  mean  "  go  by  all  means,"  so  she  dug 
the  end  of  her  staff  into  Dolly's  rugged  breast,  and  mounted 
cheerily,  stepping  lightly  from  boulder  to  boulder. 

The  sun  was  not  so  warm  as  it  had  been  ten  minutes  ago, 
when  Maulevrier  flung  himself  down  to  rest.  The  sky  had 
clouded  over  a  little,  and  a  cooler  wind  was  blowing  across  the 
breast  of  the  hill.  Fairfield  yonder,  that  long  smooth  slope  of 
verdure  which  a  little  while  ago  looked  emerald  green  in  the 
sunlifi^t,  now  wore  a  soft  and  shadowy  hue.     All  the  world  was 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  i6i 

grayer  and  dimmer  in  a  moment  as  it  were,  and  Coniston  Lake 
in  its  distant  valley  disappeared  beneath  a  veil  of  mist,  while  the 
shimmering  sea-line  upon  the  verge  of  the  horizon  melted  and 
vanished  among  the  clouds  that  overhung  it.  The  weather 
changes  very  quickly  in  this  part  of  the  world.  Sharp  drops  of 
rain  came  spitting  at  Hammond  and  Mary  as  they  climbed  the 
crest  of  the  Pike,  and  stopped,  somewhat  breathless,  to  look 
back  at  Maulevrier.  He  was  trudging  bhthely  down  the  wind- 
ing way,  and  seemed  to  have  done  wonders  while  they  had  been 
doing  very  little. 

"  How  fast  he  is  going,"  said  Mar}'. 

"  Easy  is  the  descent  of  Avernus.  He  is  going  down  hill,  and 
we  are  going  upward.  That  makes  all  the  difference  in  life, 
you  see,"  answered  Hammond. 

Mary  looked  at  him  with  divine  compassion.  She  thought  for 
him  the  hill  of  life  would  be  harder  than  Helvellyn.  He  was 
brave,  honest,  clever  ;  but  her  grandmother  had  impressed  upon 
her  that  modern  civilization  hardly  has  room  for  a  young  man 
who  wants  to  get  on  in  the  world  without  either  fortune  or  pow- 
erful connections.  He  had  better  go  to  Australia  and  keep  sheep 
than  attempt  the  impossible  at  home. 

The  rain  was  a  passing  shower,  hardly  worth  speaking  of,  but 
the  glory  of  the  day  was  over.  The  sky  was  gray,  and  there 
were  dark  clouds  creeping  up  from  the  sea-line.  Silvery  Win- 
dermere had  taken  a  leaden  hue  ;  and  now  they  turned  their  last 
fond  look  upon  the  Westmoreland  valley  and  set  their  faces 
steadily  toward  Cumberland  and  the  fine  grassy  plateau  on  the 
top  of  the  hill. 

All  this  was  done  in  a  flash.  It  took  them  some  time  to  scale 
Dolly's  stubborn  breast,  and  it  took  them  another  hour  to  reach 
the  grassy  platform,  and  by  the  time  they  came  to  the  iron  gate 
in  the  fence  which  at  this  point  divides  the  two  counties,  the  at- 
mosphere had  thickened  ominously,  and  dark  wreaths  of  fog 
were  floating  about  and  around  them,  whirled  here  and  there  by 
a  boisterous  wind  which  shrieked  and  roared  at  them  with  sav- 
age-seeming fury,  as  if  it  were  the  voice  of  some  Titan  monarch 
of  the  mountain  protesting  against  this  intrusion  upon  its  do- 
main. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  won't  see  the  Scottish  hills,"  shouted  Mary, 
holding  on  her  little  cloth  hat. 

She  was  obliged  to  shout  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  though  she 
was  close  to  Mr.  Hammond's  elbow,  for  that  shrill  screaming 
wind  would  have  drowned  the  voice  of  a  stentor. 

"  Never  mind  the  view,"  replied  Hammond  in  the   sMie  for- 


i62  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

tissimo,  "  but  I  really  wish  I  hadn't  brought  you  up  here.  If 
this  fog  should  get  any  worse,  it  may  be  dangerous." 

"  The  fog  is  sure  to  get  w^orse,"  said  Mar}^  in  a  brief  lull  of 
the  hurly  burly,  "  but  there  is  no  danger.  I  know  every  inch  of 
the  hill,  and  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid.  I  can  guide  you  if  you  will 
trust  me." 

"  My  bravest  of  girls,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  down  at  her. 
"  Trust  you  }  Yes,  I  would  trust  my  life  to  you — my  soul — my 
honor — secure  in  your  purity  and  good  faith." 

Never  had  eyes  of  living  man  or  woman  looked  down  upon 
her  with  such  tenderness,  such  fervent  love.  She  looked  up  at 
him  ;  looked  with  eyes  which,  at  first  bewildered,  then  grew 
bold,  and  lost  themselves,  as  it  were,  in  the  gray  depths  of  the 
eyes  they  met.  The  savage  wind,  rustling  and  howling,  blew 
her  nearer  to  him,  as  a  reed  is  blown  against  a  rock.  Dark 
gray  mists  were  rising  round  them  like  a  sea ;  but  had  that  ever- 
thickening,  ever-darkening  vapor  been  the  sea  itself,  and  death 
inevitable,  Mary  Haselden  would  have  hardly  cared.  For  in 
this  moment  the  one  precious  gift  for  which  her  soul  had  long 
been  yearning  had  been  freely  given  to  her.  She  knew  all  at 
once  that  she  was  fondly  loved  by  that  one  man  whom  she  had 
chosen  for  her  idol  and  hero. 

What  matter  that  he  was  fortuneless,  a  nobody,  with  but  the 
poorest  chances  of  success  in  the  world?  What  if  he  must 
needs,  only  to  win  the  bare  means  of  existence,  go  to  Australia 
and  keep  sheep,  or  to  the  Red  River  country  and  grow  corn  ? 
What  if  he  must  labor,  as  the  peasants  labored,  on  the  sides  of 
this  rude  hill  ?  Gladly  would  she  gc  whh  him  to  a  strange  coun- 
try and  keep  his  log  cabin,  and  work  for  him,  and  share  his  hard 
life,  rough  or  smooth.  No  loss  of  social  rank  could  lessen  her 
pride  in  him,  her  belief  in  him. 

They  were  standing  side  by  side  a  little  way  from  the  edge  of 
the  sheer  descent,  below  which  the  Red  Tarn  showed  black  in  a 
basin  scooped  out  of  the  hill,  like  water  held  in  the  hollow  of  a 
giant's  hand. 

"  Look,"  cried  Mary,  pointing  downward,  "  you  must  see  the 
Red  Tarn,  the  highest  water  in  England !  " 

But  just  at  this  moment  there  came  a  blast  which  shook  even 
Hammond's  strong  frame,  and  with  a  cry  of  fear  he  snatched 
Mary  in  his  arms  and  carried  her  away  from  the  edge  of  the  hill. 
He  folded  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  there,  thirty  yards  away 
from  the  precipice,  safely  sheltered  against  his  breast,  while  the 
wind  raved  round  them,  blowing  her  hair  from  the  broad  white 
brow,  and  showino^  it  to  him  in  all  its  power  and  beauty ;  while 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  163 

the  darkness  deepened  round  them  so  that  they  could  see  hardly 
anything  but  each  other's  eyes. 

""  My  love,  my  true,  dear  love,"  he  murmured  fondly  ;  "  I  will 
trust  you  with  my  life.  Will  you  accept  the  trust .''  I  am  hardly 
worthy,  for  less  than  a  year  ago  I  offered  myself  to  your  sister, 
and  I  thought  that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  this  wide  world 
who  could  make  me  happy.  And  when  she  refused  me  I  was 
in  despair,  Mary,  and  I  left  Fellside  in  the  full  belief  that  I  had 
done  with  life  and  happiness.  And  then  I  came  back,  only  to 
oblige  Maulevrier,  and  determined  to  be  utterly  miserable  at 
Fellside.  I  was  miserable  for  the  first  two  hours.  Memories 
of  dead  and  gone  joys  and  disappointed  hopes  were  very  bitter ; 
and  I  tried  honestly  to  keep  up  my  feeling  of  wretchedness  for 
the  first  few  days.  But  it  was  no  use,  Molly.  There  was  a 
genial  spirit  in  the  place,  a  laughing  fairy  who  would  not  let  me 
be  sad ;  and  I  found  myself  becoming  most  unromantically 
happy,  eating  my  breakfast  with  a  hearty  appetite,  thinking  my 
cup  of  tea  nectar  for  love  of  the  dear  hand  that  gave  it.  And 
so,  and  so,  till  the  new  love,  the  purer  and  better  love,  grew  and 
grew  into  a  mighty  tree,  which  was  an  oak  to  an  orchid,  com- 
pared with  that  passion  flower  of  earlier  growth.  Mary,  will 
you  trust  your  life  to  me,  as  I  trust  mine  to  you  ?  I  say  to  you 
almost  in  the  words  I  spoke  last  year  to  Lesbia,"  and  here  his 
tone  grew  graver  almost  to  solemnity,  "  trust  me  and  I  will  make 
your  life  free  from  the  shadow  of  care — trust  me,  for  I  have  a 
brave  spirit  and  a  strong  arm  to  fight  the  battle  of  life — trust 
me,  and  I  will  win  for  you  the  position  you  have  a  right  to  occupy 
— trust  me,  and  you  shall  never  repent  your  trust." 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  which  told  of  infinite  faith, 
childlike,  unquestioning  faith. 

"  I  will  trust  you  in  all  things,  and  forever,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
not  afraid  to  face  evil  fortune.  I  do  not  care  how  poor  you  are 
— how  hard  our  lives  may  be — if — if  you  are  sure  you  love  me." 

"  Sure  !  There  is  not  a  beat  of  my  heart  or  a  thought  of  my 
mind  that  does  not  belong  to  you.  I  am  yours  to  the  very 
depths  of  my  soul.  My  innocent  love,  my  clear-eyed,  clear- 
souled  angel !  I  have  studied  you,  and  watched  you,  and 
thought  of  you,  and  sounded  the  depths  of  your  lovely  nature, 
and  the  result  is  that  you  are  for  me  earth's  one  woman.  I  will 
have  no  other,  Mary,  no  other  love,  no  other  wife." 

"  Lady  Maulevrier  will  be  dreadfully  angry,"  faltered  Mary. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  her  anger  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  afraid  of  nothing  for  your  sake." 

He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it  reverently,  and 


i64  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

there  was  a  touch  of  chivalry  in  that  reverential  kiss.  His 
eyes  clouded  with  tears  as  he  looked  down  into  the  trustful  face. 
The  fog-  had  darkened  to  a  denser  blackness,  and  it  was  almost 
as  if  they  were  ingulfed  in  sudden  night. 

"  If  we  were  never  to  find  our  way  down  the  hill ;  if  this  were 
to  be  the  last  hour  of  our  lives,  Mary,  would  you  be  content  ? " 

"  Quite  content,"  she  answered  simply.  "  I  think  I  have  lived 
long  enough,  if  you  really  love  me — if  you  are  not  making  fun." 

"  What,  Molly,  do  you  still  doubt  .'*  Is  it  strange  that  I  love 
you  ?  " 

"  Very  strange.     I  am  so  different  from  Lesbia." 

"  Yes,  very  different,  and  the  difference  is  your  highest  charm. 
And  now,  love,  we  had  better  go  down  whichever  side  of  the  hill 
is  easiest,  for  this  fog  is  rather  appalling.  I  forgive  the  wind, 
because  it  blew  you  against  my  heart  just  now,  and  that  is  where 
I  want  you  to  dwell  forever." 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Mary.  "  I  know  every  step  of  the 
way." 

So  leaning  on  her  lover,  and  yet  guiding  him,  slowly,  step  by 
step,  groping  their  way  through  the  darkness.  Lady  Mary  led 
Mr.  Hammond  down  the  winding  track  along  which  the  ponies 
and  the  guides  travel  so  often  in  the  summer  season.  And 
soon  they  began  to  descend  out  of  that  canopy  of  fog  which  en- 
veloped the  brow  of  Helvellyn,  and  to  see  the  whole  world 
smiling  beneath  them,  a  world  of  green  pastures  and  sheep-folds, 
with  a  white  homestead  here  and  there  amidst  the  fields,  looking 
so  human  and  so  comfortable  after  that  gloomy  mountain-top 
round  which  the  tempest  howled  so  outrageously.  Beyond 
those  pastures  stretched  the  dark  waters  of  Thirlmere,  looking 
like  a  broad  river. 

The  descent  was  passing  steep,  but  Hammond's  strong  arm 
and  steady  steps  made  Mary's  progress  very  easy,  while  she  had 
in  no  wise  exaggerated  her  familiarity  with  the  windings  and 
twistings  of  the  track.  Yet  as  they  had  need  to  travel  very  slowly 
so  long  as  the  fog  still  surrounded  them,  the  journey  downward 
lasted  a  considerable  time,  and  it  was  past  five  when  they  ar- 
rived at  the  little  roadside  inn  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

Here  Mr.  Hammond  insisted  that  Mary  should  rest  at  least 
long  enough  to  take  a  cup  of  tea.  She  was  very  white  and 
tired.  She  had  been  profoundly  agitated,  and  looked  on  the 
point  of  fainting,  although  she  protested  that  she  was  quite  ready 
to  walk  on. 

"You  are  not  going  to  walk  another  step,"  said  Hammond. 
"While  you  are  taking  your  tea  I  will  get  you  a  carriage." 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 65 

"  Indeed  I  had  rather  hurry  on  at  once,"  urged  Mary.  "We 
are  so  late  already." 

"  You  will  get  home  all  the  sooner  if  you  obey  me.  It  is  your 
duty  to  obey  me  now,"  said  Hammond,  in  a  lowered  voice. 

She  smiled  at  him,  but  it  was  a  weak,  wan,  little  smile,  for 
that  descent  in  the  wdnd  and  the  fog  had  quite  exhausted  her. 
Mr.  Hammond  took  her  into  a  snug  little  parlor  where  there 
was  a  cheerful  fire,  and  saw  her  comfortably  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair by  the  hearth  before  he  went  to  look  after  a  carriage. 

There  was  no  such  thing  as  a  conveyance  to  be  had,  but  the 
Windermere  coach  would  pass  in  about  half  an  hour,  and  for 
this  they  must  wait.  It  would  take  them  back  to  Grasmere 
sooner  than  they  could  get  there  by  walking,  in  Mary's  exhausted 
condition. 

The  tea-tray  was  brought  in  presently,  and  Hammond 
poured  out  the  tea  and  waited  on  Lady  Mary.  It  was  a  rever- 
sal of  the  usual  formula,  but  it  was  very  pleasant  to  Mary  to  sit 
with  her  feet  on  the  low  brass  fender  and  be  waited  upon  by  her 
lover.  That  fog  on  the  brow  of  Helvellyn — that  piercing  wind 
— had  chilled  her  to  the  bone,  and  there  was  an  unspeakable 
comfort  in  the  glow  and  warmth  of  the  fire,  in  the  refreshment 
of  a  good  cup  of  tea. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  trouble." 

"  Mary,  you  are  my  own  property  now,  remember,"  said 
Hammond,  watching  her  tenderly  as  she  sipped  her  cup  of  tea. 

She  glanced  up  at  him  shyly,  now  and  then,  with  eyes  full  of 
innocent  wonder.  It  was  so  strange  to  her — as  strange  as 
sweet — to  know  that  he  loved  her  ;  such  a  marvelous  thing 
that  she  had  pledged  herself  to  be  his  wife. 

"  You  are  my  very  own — mine  to  guard  and  cherish,  mine  to 
think  and  work  for,"  he  went  on,  "  and  you  will  have  to  trust 
me,  sweet  one  :  even  if  the  beginning  of  things  is  not  altogether 
free  from  trouble." 

"  I  will  trust  you  in  all  things,"  said  Mary. 

"  Bravely  spoken.  First  and  foremost,  then,  you  will  have  to 
announce  your  engagement  to  Lady  Maulevrier.  She  will  take 
it  ill,  no  doubt;  will  do  her  utmost  to  persuade  you  to  give  me 
up.  Have  you  courage  and  resolution,  do  you  think,  to  stand 
against  her  arguments  ?  Can  you  hold  to  your  purpose  bravely 
and  cry  no  surrender  ? " 

"There  shall  be  no  surrender,"  answered  Mary ;  "  I  promise 
you  that.  No  doubt  grandmamma  will  be  very  angry,  but  she 
has  never  cared  for  me  very  much.  It  will  not  hurt  her' for 
me   to   make  a  bad  match  as  it  would  have  done  in  Lesbia's 


l66  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

case.  She  has  had  no  day-dreams — no  great  ambition  about 
me  !  " 

"  So  much  the  better,  my  lowly  flower.  When  you  have  said 
all  that  is  sweet  and  dutiful  to  her,  and  have  let  her  know  at  the 
same  time  that  you  mean  to  be  my  wife,  come  weal  come  woe,  I 
will  see  her,  and  will  say  my  say.  I  will  not  promise  her  a  grand 
career  for  my  darling,  but  I  will  pledge  myself  that  nothing  of 
that  kind  which  the  world  calls  evil — no  penury  or  shabbiness 
of  surroundings — shall  ever  touch  Mary  Haselden  after  she  is 
Mary  Hammond.     I  can  promise  at  least  so  much  as  that." 

"  It  is  more  than  enough,"  said  Mary.  "  I  have  told  you  that  I 
would  gladly  share  poverty  with  you." 

"  Sweet,  it  is  good  of  you  to  say  so  much,  but  I  would  not  take 
you  at  your  word.     You  don't  know  what  poverty  is." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  a  coward,  or  self-indulgent  ?  You  are 
wrong,  Jack.     May  I  call  you  Jack,  as  Maulevrier  does  } " 

"  May  you  ?  " 

The  question  evoked  such  a  gush  of  tenderness  that  he  was 
fain  to  kneel  beside  her  chair,  and  kiss  the  little  hand  holding 
the  cup,  before  he  considered  he  had  answered  properly. 

"  You  are  wrong.  Jack.  I  do  know  what  poverty  means.  I 
have  studied  the  ways  of  the  poor,  tried  to  console  them,  and 
help  them  a  little  in  their  troubles  ;  and  I  know  there  is  no  pain 
which  want  of  money  can  bring  which  I  would  not  share  will- 
ingly with  you.  Do  you  suppose  my  happiness  is  dependent  on 
a  fine  house  and  powdered  footmen  }  I  should  like  to  go  to  the 
Red  River  with  you,  and  wear  cotton  gowns,  and  tuck  up  my 
sleeves  and  clean  our  cottage." 

"  Very  pretty  sport,  dear,  for  a  summer  day  ;  but  my  Mary 
shall  have  a  sweeter  life,  and  shall  occasionally  walk  in  silk  at- 
tire." 

That  tea-drinking  by  the  fireside  in  the  inn  parlor  was  the 
most  delicious  thing  within  John  Hammond's  experience. 
Mary  was  a  bewitching  compound  of  earnestness  and  simplicity, 
so  humble,  so  confiding,  so  perplexed  and  astonished  at  her  own 
bliss. 

"  Confess,  now,  in  the  Summer,  when  you  were  in  love  with 
Lesbia,  you  thought  me  a  horrid  kind  of  a  girl,"  she  said  pres- 
ently, when  they  were  standing  side  by  side  at  the  window, 
watching  for  the  coach. 

"  Never,  Mary.  My  crime  is  to  have  thought  very  little  of 
you  in  those  days.  I  was  so  dazzled  by  Lesbia's  beaut}^  so 
charmed  by  her  accomplishments  and  girlish  graces,  that  I  for- 
got to  take  notice  of  anything  else  in  the  world.     If  I  thought 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  167 

of  you  at  all  it  was  another  Maulevrier — a  younger  Maulevrier 
in  petticoats,  very  gay,  and  good  humored  and  nice." 

"  But  when  you  saw  me  rushing  about  with  the  terriers,  I  must 
have  seemed  utterly  horrid." 

"  Why,  dearest  ?  There  is  nothing  essentially  horrible  in 
terriers,  or  in  a  bright,  lively  girl  running  races  with  them.  You 
made  a  very  pretty  picture  in  the  sunlight,  with  your  hat  hang- 
ing on  your  shoulder,  and  your  curly  brown  hair  and  dancing 
hazel  eyes.  If  I  had  not  been  deep  in  love  with  Lesbia's  peer- 
less complexion  and  Grecian  features  I  should  have  looked  be- 
low the  surface  of  that  Gainsborough  picture  and  discovered 
what  treasures  of  goodness  and  courage,  and  truth  and  purity 
those  frank  brown  eyes  and  that  wide  forehead  betokened.  I 
was  sowing  my  wild  oats  last  Summer,  Mary,  and  they  brought 
me  a  crop  of  sorrow.     But  I  am  wiser  now — wiser  and  happier." 

"But  if  you  were  to  see  Lesbia  again,  would  not  the  old  love 
revive  .?  " 

"  The  old  love  is  dead,  Mary.  There  is  nothing  left  of  it  but 
a  handful  of  ashes,  which  I  scatter  thus  to  the  four  winds,"  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand  toward  the  open  casement.  "  The  new  love 
absorbs  and  masters  my  being.  If  Lesbia  were  to  reappear  at 
Fellside  this  evening,  I  could  offer  her  my  hand  in  all  brotherly 
frankness,  and  ask  her  to  accept  me  as  a  brother.  Here  comes 
the  coach.     We  shall  be  at  Fellside  just  in  time  for  dinner." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WISERTHANLESBIA. 

Lady  Mary  and  Mr.  Hammond  were  back  at  Fellside  at  a 
quarter  before  eight,  by  which  time  the  stars  were  shining  on 
pine  woods  and  Fell.  They  managed  to  be  in  the  drawing-room 
when  dinner  was  announced,  after  the  hastiest  of  toilets ;  yet 
her  lover  thought  Mary  had  never  looked  prettier  than  she 
looked  that  night,  in  her  limp,  white  cashmere  gown,  and  with 
her  brown  hair  brushed  into  a  large  loose  knot  on  the  top  of  her 
head.  There  had  been  great  uneasiness  about  them  at  Fellside 
when  evening  began  to  draw  in  and  the  expected  hour  of  their 
return  had  gone.  Scouts  had  been  sent  in  quest  of  them,  but 
in  the  wrong  direction. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  be  such  idiots  as  to  come  down 
the  north  side  of  the  hill  in  a  tempest,"  said  Maulevrier  ;  "  we 
could  see  the  clouds  racing  over  the  crest  of  Seat  Sandal  and 


1 68  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

knew  it  was  blowing  pretty  hard  up  there,  though  it  was  calm 
enough  down  here." 

"  Blowing  pretty  hard  !  "  echoed  Hammond.  "  I  don't  think 
I  was  ever  out  in  a  worse  gale ;  and  yet  I  have  been  across  the 
Bay  of  Biscay  when  the  waves  struck  the  side  of  the  steamer  like 
battering  rams,  and  when  the  whole  surface  of  the  sea  was  white 
with  seething  foam." 

"  It  was  a  most  imprudent  thing  to  go  up  Helvellyn  in  such 
weather,"  said  Fraulein  Kirsch,  shaking  her  head  gloomily  as 
she  eat  her  fish. 

Mary  felt  that  the  Fraulein 's  manner  boded  ill.  There  was  a 
storm  brewing.  A  scolding  was  inevitable.  Mary  felt  quite 
capable  of  doing  battle  with  the  Fraulein,  but  her  feelings  were 
altogether  different  when  she  thought  of  facing  that  stern  old  lady 
upstairs,  and  of  the  confession  she  had  to  make.  It  was  not 
that  her  courage  faltered.  So  far  as  resolution  went  she  was  as 
firm  as  rock.  But  she  felt  that  there  was  a  terrible  ordeal  to  be 
gone  through  ;  and  it  seemed  a  mockery  to  be  sitting  there  and 
pretending  to  eat  her  dinner  and  take  things  lightly  with  that 
ordeal  before  her. 

"  We  did  not  go  up  the  hill  in  bad  weather.  Miss  Kirsch," 
said  Mr.  Hammond.  "  The  sun  was  shining  and  the  sky  was 
blue  when  we  started.  We  could  not  foresee  darkness  and  storm 
at  the  top  of  the  hill.     That  was  the  fortune  of  war." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  Lady  Mary  had  not  more  good  sense,"  re- 
plied Fraulein,  with  unabated  gloom  ;  but  on  this  Maulevrier 
took  up  the  cudgels. 

"  If  there  was  any  want  of  sense  in  the  business  that's  my  look- 
out, Fraulein,"  he  said,  glaring  angrily  at  the  governess.  "  It 
was  I  who  advised  Hammond  and  Lady  Mary  to  climb  the  hill. 
And  here  they  are  safe  and  sound  after  their  journey.  I  see  no 
reason  why  there  should  be  any  fuss  about  it." 

"  People  have  different  ways  of  looking  at  things,"  replied 
Fraulein,  plodding  steadily  on  with  her  dinner. 

Mary  rose  directly  the  dessert  had  been  handed  round,  and 
marched  out  of  the  icom  like  a  warrior  going  to  a  battle  in  which 
the  chances  of  defeat  were  strong.  Fraulein  Kirsch  shuffled 
after  her. 

"  Wiir  you  be  kind  enough  to  go  to  her  Ladyship's  room  at 
once,  Lady  Mary,"  she  said,  "  she  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"  And  I  want  to  speak  to  her,"  said  Mary. 

She  ran  quickly  upstairs  and  arrived  in  the  morning  room  a 
little  out  of  breath.  The  room  was  lighted  by  one  low  moderator 
lamp,  under  a  dark  red  velvet  shade,  and  there  was  the  glow  of 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  169 

the  wood  fire,  which  gave  a  more  cheerful  light  than  the  lamp. 
Lady  Maulevrier  was  lying  on  her  couch  in  a  loose  brocade  tea- 
gown,  with  rich  lace  collar  and  ruffles.  She  was  as  well  dressed 
in  her  day  of  affliction  and  helplessness  as  she  had  been  in  her 
day  of  strength,  for  she  knew  to  a  hair's  breadth  the  value  of  sur- 
roundings, and  that  her  stateliness  and  power  were  in  some  man- 
ner dependent  on  details  of  this  kind.  The  one  hand  which  she 
could  use  glittered  with  diamonds,  as  she  waved  it  with  a  little 
imperious  gesture  toward  the  chair  on  which  she  desired  Lady 
Mary  to  seat  herself ;  and  Mary  sat  down  meekly,  knowing  that 
this  chair  represented  the  felon's  dock. 

"  Mary,"  began  her  grandmother,  with  freezing  gravity,  "  I 
have  been  surprised  and  shocked  by  your  conduct  to-day.  Yes, 
surprised  at  such  conduct  even  in  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have  done  anything  very  wrong,  grand- 
mother." 

"  Not  wrong  !  You  have  done  nothing  wrong  ?  You  have 
done  something  absolutely  outrageous.  You,  my  granddaughter, 
well  born,  well  bred,  reared  under  my  roof,  to  go  up  to  Helvellyn 
and  lose  yourself  in  a  fog  alone  with  a  young  man.  You  could 
hardly  have  done  worse  if  you  were  a  Cockney  tourist,"  con- 
cluded her  Ladyship,  with  ineffable  disgust. 

'•  I  could  not  help  the  fog,"  said  Mary,  quietly.  The  battle 
had  to  be  fought,  and  she  was  not  going  to  flinch  !  "  I  had  no 
intention  of  going  up  Helvellyn  alone  with  Mr.  Hammond 
Maulevrier  was  to  have  gone  with  us,  but  when  we  got  to  Dolly 
Wagon  he  was  tired,  and  would  not  go  any  further.  He  told 
me  to  go  on  with  Mr.  Hammond." 

"  He  told  you  !  Maulevrier  ! — a  young  man  who  has  spent 
some  of  the  best  hours  of  his  youth  in  the  company  of  jockeys 
and  trainers — who  hasn't  the  faintest  idea  of  the  fitness  of  things. 
You  allowed  Maulevrier  to  be  your  guide  in  a  matter  in  which 
your  own  instinct  should  have  guided  you — your  womanly  in- 
stinct ?  But  you  have  always  been  an  unwomanly  girl.  You 
have  put  me  to  shame  many  times  by  your  hoyd'enish  tricks  ; 
but  I  bore  with  you,  believing  that  your  madcap  follies  were  at 
least  harmless.  To-day  you  have  gone  a  step  too  far,  and  have 
been  guilty  of  absolute  impropriety,  which  I  shall  be  very  slow 
to  pardon." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  be  still  more  angry  when  you  know  all, 
grandmother,"  said  Mary. 

Lady  Maulevrier  turned  her  dark  flashing  eyes  upon  the  girl 
with  a  look  which  would  have  almost  killed  a  nervous  subject ; 


170 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


but  Mary  faced  her  steadfastly,  very  pale,  but  as  resolute  as  her 
Ladyship. 

"  When  I  know  all !     What  more  is  there  for  me  to  know  ?  " 

*'  Only  that  while  we  were  on  the  top  of  Helvellyn,  in  the  fog 
and  wind,  Mr.  Hammond  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  it,"  retorted  her  Ladyship,  with 
a  harsh  laugh.  "  A  girl  who  could  act  so  boldly  and  flirtingly 
was  a  natural  mark  for  an  adventurer.  Mr.  Hammond  no  doubt 
has  been  told  that  you  will  have  a  little  money  by  and  by,  and 
thinks  he  might  do  worse  than  marry  you.  And  seeing  how  you 
have  flung  yourself  at  his  head,  he  naturally  concludes  that  you 
will  not  be  too  proud  to  accept  your  sister's  leavings." 

"  There  is  nothing  gained  by  making  cruel  speeches,  grand- 
mother," said  Mary,  firmly.  "  I  have  promised  to  be  John 
Hammond's  wife,  and  there  is  nothing  you  nor  any  one  else  can 
say  which  will  make  me  alter  my  mind.  I  wish  to  act  dutifully 
to  you,  if  I  can,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  good  to  me  and  consent 
to  this  marriage.  But  if  you  will  not  consent,  I  shall  marr}'  him 
all  the  same.  I  shall  be  full  of  sorrow  at  having  to  disobey 
you  ;  but  I  have  promised,  and  I  will  keep  my  promise." 

"  You  will  act  in  open  rebellion  against  me — against  me,  who 
have  reared  you,  and  educated  you  and  cared  for  you  in  all  these 
years !  " 

"But  you  have  never  loved  me,"  answered  Mary,  sadly. 
"  Perhaps  if  you  had  given  me  some  portion  of  that  affection 
which  you  have  lavished  on  my  sister  I  might  be  willing  to  sac- 
rifice this  new,  deep  love  for  your  sake — to  lay  down  my  broken 
heart  as  a  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of  gratitude.  But  you  have 
never  loved  me ;  you  have  tolerated  me,  endured  my  presence 
as  a  disagreeable  necessity  of  your  life  because  I  am  my  father's 
daughter.  You  and  Lesbia  have  been  all  the  world  to  each  other, 
and  I  have  stood  aloof,  outside  your  charmed  circle,  almost  a 
stranger  to  you.  Can  you  wonder,  grandmother,  recalling  this, 
that  I  am  unwilling  to  surrender  the  love  that  has  been  given 
me  to-day — the  true,  great  heart  of  a  brave  and  good  man  1 " 

Lady  Maulevrier  looked  at  her  for  some  moments  in  scornful 
wonderment ;  looked  at  her  with  a  slow,  deliberate  smile. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  she  said  ;  "  poor,  ignorant,  inexperienced  baby ! 
For  what  a  Will  o'  the  Wisp  are  you  ready  to  sacrifice  my  re- 
gard and  all  the  privileges  of  your  position  as  my  granddaughter  ? 
No  doubt  this  Mr.  Hammond  has  said  all  manner  of  fine  things 
to  you  ;  but  can  you  be  weak  enough  to  believe  that  he  who  half 
a  year  ago  was  sighing  and  dying  at  the  feet  of  your  sister  can 
have  one  spark  of  genuine  regard  for  you  ?     The  thing  is  not  in 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  171 

nature  ;  it  is  an  obvious  absurdity.  But  it  is  easy  enough  to  un- 
derstand that  Mr.  Hammond,  without  a  penny  in  his  pocket  and 
his  way  to  make  in  the  world,  would  be  very  glad  to  secure  Lady 
Mary  Haselden  and  her  five  hundred  a  year,  and  to  have  Lord 
Maulevrier  for  his  brother-in-law." 

"  Have  I  really  five  hundred  a  year  ?     Shall  I  have  five  hun- 
dred a  year  when  I  marry  ?  "  asked  Mar}^,  suddenly  radiant. 
"  Yes  ;  if  you  marry  with  your  brother's  consent.'' 
"  I  am  so  glad — for  his  sake.     He  could  hardly  starve  if  I  had 
five  hundred  a  year.     He  need  not  be  obliged  to  emigrate." 

"  Has  he  been  offering  you  the  prospect  of  emigration  as  an 
additional  inducement  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  he  does  not  say  that  he  is  very  poor,  but  since  you 
say  he  is  penniless  I  thought  we  might  be  obliged  to  emigrate. 
But  as  I  have  five  hundred  a  year — " 

"  You  will  stay  at  home  and  set  up  a  lodging-house,  I  suppose," 
sneered  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"  I  will  do  anything  he  pleases.  We  can  live  in  a  humble  way 
in  some  quiet  part  of  London,  while  Mr.  Hammond  works  at  lit- 
erature or  politics.  I  am  not  afraid  of  poverty  or  trouble.  I 
am  willing  to  endure  both  for  his  sake." 

"You  aie  a  fool,"  said  her  grandmother  sternly.  "And  I 
have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you.  Go  away  and  send  Maule- 
vrier to  me." 

Mary  did  not  obey  immediately.  She  went  over  to  her  grand- 
mother's couch  and  knelt  by  her  side,  and  kissed  the  poor 
maimed  hand  which  lay  on  the  velvet  cushion. 

"  Dear  grandmother,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to 
rebel  against  you.  But  this  is  a  question  of  life  or  death  with 
me.  I  am  not  like  Lesbia.  I  cannot  barter  love  and  truth  for 
worldly  advantage — for  pride  of  race.  Do  not  think  me  so  weak 
or  vain  as  to  be  won  by  a  few  fine  speeches  from  an  adventurer. 
Mr.  Hammond  is  no  adventurer,  he  has  made  no  fine  speeches 
— but  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  grandmamma.  I  have  liked  and 
admired  him  from  the  first  time  he  came  here.  I  have  looked 
up  to  him  and  reverenced  him,  and  I  must  be  a  very  foolish  girl 
if  my  judgment  is  so  poor  that  I  can  respect  a  worthless  man." 
"You  are  a  very  foolish  girl,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier, 
more  kindly  than  she  had  spoken  before,  "  but  you  have  been 
very  good  and  dutiful  to  me  since  I  have  been  ill,  and  I  don't 
wish  to  forget  that.  I  never  said  that  Mr.  Hammond  was  worth- 
less ;  but  I  say  that  he  is  no  fit  husband  for  you.  If  you  were 
as  yielding  and  obedient  as  Lesbia  it  would  be  all  the  better  for 
you,  for  then  I  should  provide  for  your  establishment  in  life  in 


172 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


a  becoming  manner.  But  as  you  are  willful  and  bent  on  taking 
your  own  way — well — my  dear,  you  must  take  the  consequence  ; 
and  when  you  are  a  struggling  wife  and  mother,  old  before  your 
time,  weighed  down  with  the  weary  burden  of  petty  care,  do  not 
say,  '  my  grandmother  might  have  saved  me  from  this  martyr- 
dom.' " 

"  I  will  run  the  risk,  grandmamma.  I  will  be  answerable  for 
my  own  fate." 

"  So  be  it,  Mary.     And  now  send  Maulevrier  to  me." 

Mary  went  down  to  the  billiard-room,  where  she  found  her 
brother  and  her  lover  engaged  in  a  hundred  game. 

"  Take  my  cue  and  beat  him  if  you  can,  Molly,"  said  Maule- 
vrier, when  he  had  heard  Mary's  message.  "  I'm  fifteen  ahead 
of  him,  for  he  has  been  falling  asleep  over  his  shots.  I  suppose 
I  am  going  to  get  a  lecture." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Mary. 

"  Well,  my  dearest,«how  did  you  fare  in  the  encounter  ? "  asked 
Hammond,  directly  Maulevrier  was  gone. 

"Oh,  it  was  dreadful.  I  made  the  most  rebellious  speeches 
to  poor  grandmamma,  and  then  I  remembered  her  affliction,  and 
I  asked  her  to  forgive  me,  and  just  at  the  last  she  was  ever  so 
much  kinder,  and  I  think  that  she  will  let  me  marry  you,  now 
she  knows  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  be  your  wife — in  spite  of 
Fate." 

"  My  bravest  and  best." 

"  And  do  you  know,  Jack,"  she  blushed  tremendously  as  she 
uttered  this  familiar  name,  "  I  have  made  a  discovery." 

"  Indeed." 

"  I  find  that  I  am  to  have  five  hundred  a  year  when  I  am  mar- 
ried. It  is  not  much.  But  I  suppose  it  will  help,  won't  it  ?  We 
can't  exactly  starve  if  we  have  five  hundred  a  year.  Let  me  see. 
It  is  more  than  a  pound  a  day.  A  sovereign  ought  to  go  a  long 
way  in  a  small  house ;  and,  of  course,  we  shall  begin  in  a  very 
wee  bouse,  like  De  Quincey's  cottage  over  there,  only  in  Lon- 
don." 

'Yes,  dear,  there  are  plenty  of  such  cottages  in  London. 
Mayfair,  for  instance,  or  Belgravia." 

"  Now,  you  are  laughing  at  my  rustic  ignorance.  But  the  five 
hundred  pounds  will  be  a  help,  won't  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  a  great  help." 

"  I'm  so  glad." 

She  had  chalked  her  cue  while  she  was  talking,  but,  after 
taking  her  aim,  she  dropped  her  arm  irresolutely. 

"Do  you  know  I'm  afraid  I  can't  play  to-nio^ht,"  she  said. 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  173 

"  Helvellyn  and  the  fog  and  the  wind  have  quite  spoilt  my  neive. 
Shall  we  go  to  the  drawing-room  and  see  if  Fraulein  has  recov- 
ered from  her  gloomy  fit  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  stay  here,  where  we  are  free  to  talk ;  but  I'll 
do  whatever  you  like  best." 

Mary  preferred  the  drawing-room.  It  v/as  very  sweet  to  be 
alone  with  her  lover,  but  she  was  weighed  down  with  confusion 
in  his  presence.  The  novelty,  the  wonderment  of  her  position 
overpowered  her.  She  yearned  for  the  shelter  of  Fraulein 
Kirsch's  wing,  albeit  the  company  of  that  most  prosaic  person 
was  certain  death  to  romance. 

Miss  Kirsch  was  in  her  accustomed  seat  by  the  fire,  knitting 
her  customary  muffler.  She  had  appropriated  Lady  Maulevrier's 
place,  much  to  Mary's  disgust.  It  irked  the  girl  to  see  that 
stout,  clumsy  figure  in  the  chair  which  had  been  filled  by  her 
grandmother's  imperial  form.  The  very  room  seemed  vulgarized 
by  the  change. 

Fraulem  looked  up  with  a  surprised  air  when  Mary  and  Ham- 
mond entered  together,  the  girl  smiling  and  happy.  She  had 
expected  that  Mary  would  have  left  her  Ladyship's  room  in  tears, 
and  would  have  retired  to  her  own  apartment  to  hide  her  swol- 
len eyelids  and  humiliated  aspect.  But  here  she  was,  after  the 
fiery  ordeal  of  an  interview  with  her  offended  grandmother,  not 
in  the  least  crestfallen. 

"Are  we  not  to  have  any  tea  to-night? "  asked  Mary,  looking 
round  the  room. 

"  I  think  you  are  unconscious  of  the  progress  of  time,  Lady 
Mary,"  answered  Fraulein,  stifiiy.  "  The  tea  has  been  brought 
in  and  taken  out  again." 

*'  Then  it  must  be  brought  again  if  Lady  Mary  wants  some," 
said  Hammond,  ringing  the  bell  in  the  coolest  manner, 

Fraulein  felt  that  things  were  coming  to  a  pretty  pass  if  Mau- 
levrier's  humble  friend  was  going  to  give  orders  in  the  house. 
Quiet  and  commonplace  as  the  Hanoverian  v/as,  she  had  her 
ambition,  and  that  was  to  grasp  the  household  scepter  which 
Lady  Maulevrier  must  needs  in  some  wise  resign,  now  that  she 
was  a  prisoner  to  her  rooms.  But  so  far  Fraulein  had  met  with 
but  small  success  in  this  endeavor.  Her  Ladyship's  authority 
stili  ruled  the  house.  Her  Ladyship's  keen  intellect  took  cog- 
nizance even  of  trifles,  and  it  was  only  in  the  most  insignificant 
details,  that  Fraulein  telt  herself  a  power. 

*  -i^  *  *  *  * 

"  Well,  ma'am,  what's  the  row  ?  "  said  Maulevrier,  marching 
into  his  grandmother's  room,  with  a  free  and  easy  air. 


1 74  PHA NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

He  was  prepared  for  a  skirmish,  and  he  meant  to  take  the 
bull  by  the  horns. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  what  has  happened  to-day  ?  " 

"  Molly  and  Hammond's  expedition,  yes,  of  course.  I  went 
part  of  the  way  with  them,  but  I  was  out  of  training,  got  pumped 
out  after  a  couple  of  miles,  and  wasn't  such  a  fool  as  to  go  to 
the  top." 

"  Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Hammond  made  Mary  an  offer  while 
they  were  on  the  hill,  and  that  she  accepted  him  ? " 

"A  queer  place  for  a  proposal,  wasn't  it  ?  The  wind  blowing 
great  guns  all  the  time.  I  should  have  chosen  a  more  tranquil 
spot." 

"  Maulevrier,  cannot  you  be  serious  ?  Do  you  forget  that  this 
business  of  to-day  must  affect  your  sister's  w^elfare  for  the  rest 
of  her  life  }  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  I  will  be  as  serious  as  a  judge  after  he  has 
put  on  the  black  cap,"  said  Maulevrier,  seating  himself  near  his 
grandmother's  couch,  and  altering  his  tones  altogether.  "  Se- 
riously I  am  very  glad  that  Hammond  has  asked  Mary  to  be 
his  wife,  and  still  more  glad  that  she  is  tremendously  in  love 
with  him.  I  told  you  some  time  ago  not  to  put  your  spoke  in 
that  wheel.  There  could  not  be  a  happier  or  a  better  marriage 
for  Mary." 

''  You  must  have  rather  a  poor  opinion  of  your  sister's  attrac- 
tions, personal  and  otherwise,  if  you  consider  a  penniless  young 
man — of  no  family — good  enough  for  her !  " 

"  I  do  not  consider  my  sister  a  piece  of  merchandise  to  be 
sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  Granted  that  Hammond  is  poor, 
and  a  nobody.  He  is  an  honorable  man,  highly  gifted,  brave  as 
a  lion,  and  he  is  my  dearest  friend.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  re- 
joice at  my  sister's  having  won  him  for  her  adoring  lover? " 

"  Can  he  really  care  for  her,  after  having  loved  Lesbia }  " 

"  That  was  the  desire  of  the  eye,  this  is  the  love  of  the  heart. 
I  know  that  he  loves  Mary  ever  so  much  better  than  he  loved  Les- 
bia. I  can  assure  your  Ladyship  that  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I 
look.  I  am  very  fond  of  my  sister  Mary,  and  I  have  not  been 
blind  to  her  interests.  I  tell  you,  on  my  honor,  that  she  ought 
to  be  very  happy  as  John  Hammond's  wife.'' 

"I  am  obliged  to  believe  what  you  say  about  his  character," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  And  I  am  willing  to  admit  that  the 
husband's  character  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  wife's  hap- 
piness from  a  moral  point  of  view ;  but  still  there  are  material 
questions  to  be  considered.  Has  your  friend  any  means  of  sup- 
porting a  wife  ?  " 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 7  5 

"  Yes,  he  has  means  ;  quite  sufficient  means  for  Mary's  views, 
which  are  very  simple." 

"  You  mean  to  say  that  he  could  keep  her  in  decent  poverty  ? 
Cannot  you  be  explicit,  Maulevrier,  and  say  what  means  the 
man  has,  whether  any  income  or  none  ?  If  you  cannot  tell  me 
I  must  question  Mr„  Hammond  himself." 

"  Pray  do  not  do  that !  "  exclaimed  her  grandson,  urgently. 
"  Do  not  take  all  the  flavor  of  romance  out  of  Molly's  love  story, 
by  going  into  pounds,  shillings  and  pence.  She  is  very  young. 
You  would  hardly  wish  her  to  marry  immediately  t  " 

"  Not  for  the  next  year,  at  the  very  least." 

"Then  why  enter  upon  this  sordid  question  of  ways  and  means. 
Make  Hammond  and  Mary  happy  by  consenting  to  their  en- 
gagement, and  trust  the  rest  to  Providence  and  to  me.  Take 
my  word  for  it,  Hammond  is  not  a  beggar,  and  he  is  a  man 
likely  to  make  his  mark  in  the  world.  If  a  year  hence  his  in- 
come is  not  enough  to  allow  of  his  marrying  I  will  double  Mary's 
allowance  out  of  my  own  purse.  Hammond's  friendship  has 
steadied  me,  and  saved  me  a  good  deal  more  than  five  hundred 
a  year." 

"I  can  quite  believe  that.  I  believe  Mr.  Hammond  is  a 
worthy  man  and  that  his  influence  has  been  very  good  for  you; 
but  that  does  not  make  him  a  good  match  for  Mary.  However, 
you  seem  to  have  settled  the  business  among  you  and  I  suppose 
I  must  submit.  You  had  better  all  drink  tea  with  me  to-morrow 
afternoon  and  I  will  receive  your  friend  as  Mary's  future  hus- 
band." 

"  That  is  the  best  and  kindest  of  grandmothers." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  have  known  more  of  his  antecedents 
and  his  relations." 

"  His  antecedents  are  altogether  creditable.  He  was  success- 
ful at  the  University,  he  has  been  liked  and  respected  every- 
where. He  is  an  orphan,  and  it  is  better  not  to  talk  "to  him  oi 
his  family.  He  is  sensitive  on  that  point,  like  most  men  who 
stand  alone  in  the  world." 

"  Well,  I  will  hold  my  peace.  You  have  taken  this  business 
into  your  hands,  Maulevrier,  and  you  must  be  responsible  for 
the  result." 

Maulevrier  left  his  grandmother  soon  after  this,  and  went 
downstairs  whistling  for  very  joyousness.  Finding  the  billiard- 
room  deserted  he  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  where  he  found 
Mary  playing  scraps  of  melody  to  her  lover  at  the  shadowy  end  of 
the  room,  while  Fraulein  sat  by  the  fire  weaving  her  web  as  stead- 
ily as  one  of  the  Fatal  Sisters,  and  with  a  brow  prophetic  of  evil. 


176  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Maulevrier  crept  up  to  the  piano  and  came  stealthily  behind 
the  lovers. 

"  Bless  you,  my  children,"  he  said,  hovering  over  them  with 
outspread  hands.  "  I  am  the  dove  coming  back  to  the  ark.  I 
am  the  bearer  of  happy  tidings.  Lady  Maulevrier  consents  to 
your  acquiring  the  legal  right  to  make  each  other  miserable  for 
the  rest  of  your  lives." 

"  God  bless  you,  Maulevrier,"  said  Hammond,  clasping  him 
by  the  hand. 

"  Only  as  this  sister  of  mine  is  hardly  out  of  the  nursery  you 
will  have  to  wait  for  her  at  least  a  year.  So  says  the  Dowager, 
whose  word  is  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians  and  al- 
tereth  not." 

"  I  would  wait  for  her  twice  seven  years,  as  Jacob  waited,  and 
toil  for  her,  as  Jacob  toiled,"  answered  Hammond,  *'  but  I  should 
like  to  call  her  my  own  to-morrow,  if  it  were  possible." 

Nothing  could  be  happier  or  gayer  than  the  tea-drinking  in 
Lady  Maulevrier's  room  on  the  following  afternoon.  Her  Lady- 
ship having  once  given  way  upon  a  point  knew  how  to  make  her 
concession  gracefully.  She  extended  her  hand  to  Mr.  Ham- 
mond as  frankly  as  if  it  had  been  her  own  particular  choice. 

"  I  cannot  refuse  my  granddaughter  to  her  brother's  dearest 
friend,"  she  said,  "  but  I  think  you  are  two  most  imprudent  young 
people." 

"  Providence  takes  care  of  imprudent  lovers,  just  as  it  does 
of  the  birds  in  their  nests,"  answered  Hammond,  smiling. 

"Just  as  much  and  no  more,  I  fear.  Providence  does  not 
keep  off  the  cat  or  the  tax-gatherer." 

"  Birds  must  take  care  of  their  nests,  and  husbands  must  work 
for  their  homes,"  argued  Hammond.  "  Heaven  gives  sweet  air 
and  sunlight  and  a  beautiful  world  to  live  in." 

"  I  think,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  looking  at  him  critically, 
"you  are  just  the  kind  of  person  who  ought  to  emigrate.  You 
have  ideas  that  would  do  for  die  Bush  or  the  Yosemite  Valley, 
but  whicli  are  too  primitive  for  an  overcrowded  country." 

"No,  Lady  Maulevrier,  I  am  not  going  to  steal  your  grand- 
daughter. When  she  is  my  wife  she  shall  live  within  call.  I 
know  she  loves  her  native  land,  and  I  don't  think  either  of  us 
would  care  to  put  an  ocean  between  us  and  rugged  old  Helvel- 
lyn." 

"  Of  course  having  made  idiots  of  3^ourselves  up  there  in  the 
fog  and  the  storm  you  are  going  to  worship  the  mountain  for 
ever  afterward,"  said  her  Ladyship  laughing. 

Never  had  she  seemed  gayer  or  brighter.     Perhaps   in  her 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  177 

heart  of  hearts  she  rejoiced  at  getting  Mary  engaged,  even  to 
so  humble  a  suitor  as  fortuneless  John  Hammond.  Ever  since 
the  visit  of  the  so-called  Rajah  she  had  lived  as  Damocles  lived, 
with  the  sword  of  destiny — the  avenging  sword — hanging  over 
her  by  the  finest  hair.  Every  time  she  heard  carriage  wheels  in 
the  drive — ^every  time  the  hall-door  bell  rang  a  little  louder  than 
usual,  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating  and  her  whole  being  to 
hang  suspended  on  a  thread.  If  the  thread  were  to  snap,  there 
must  come  darkness  and  death.  The  blow  that  had  paralyzed 
one  side  of  her  body  must  needs  if  repeated  bring  total  extinction. 
She  who  believed  in  no  after  life  saw  in  her  maimed  and  wasting 
arm  the  beginning  of  death.  She  who  recognized  only  the  life 
of  the  body  felt  that  one-half  of  her  was  already  dead.  But 
months  had  gone  by  and  Louis  Asoph  had  made  no  sign.  She 
began  to  hope  that  his  boasted  documents  and  witnesses  were 
altogether  mythical.  And  yet  the  engines  of  the  law  are  slow 
to  be  put  in  motion.  He  might  be  working  up  his  case,'  line 
upon  line,  with  some  hard-headed  London  lawyer;  arranging 
and  marshaling  his  facts;  preparing  his  witnesses ;  waiting  for 
affidavits  from  India ;  working  slowly  but  surely,  underground 
like  the  mole ;  and  all  at  once,  in  an  hour,  his  case  might  be 
before  the  law  courts.  His  story  and  the  story  of  Lord  Maule- 
vrier's  infamy  might  be  town  talk  again,  as  it  had  been  forty 
years  ago,  when  the  true  story  of  his  crime  had  been  happily 
unknown. 

Yes,  with  the  present  fear  of  this  Louis  Asoph's  revelations, 
of  a  new  scandal,  if  not  a  calamity.  Lady  Maulevrier  felt  that  it 
was  a  good  thing  to  have  her  younger  granddaughter's  future 
in  some  measure  secured.  John  Hammond  had  said  of  himself 
to  Lesbia  that  he  was  not  the  kind  of  a  man  to  fail,  and  looking 
at  him  critically  to-day  Lady  Maulevrier  saw  the  stamp  of  power 
and  dauntless  courage  in  his  countenance  and  bearing.  It  is 
the  inner  mind  of  a  man  which  molds  the  lines  of  his  face  and 
figure,  and  a  man's  character  may  be  read  in  the  way  he  walks 
and  holds  himself,  the  action  of  his  hand,  his  smile,  his  form,  his 
general  outlook,  as  clearly  as  any  phrenological  development. 
John  Hammond  had  a  noble  outlook,  frank  and  bold,  without  im- 
pudence of  self-assertion,  self-possessed  without  vanity.  Yes, 
assuredly  a  man  to  wrestle  with  difficulty,  and  to  conquer 
fate.. 

When  that  little  tea-drinking  was  over  and  Maulevrier  and 
his  friend  were  going  away  to  dress  for  dinner.  Lady  Maule- 
vrier detained  Mary  for  a  minute  or  two  by  her  couch.  She  took 
her  by  the  hand  wilh  unaccustomed  tenderness. 


178  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  My  child,  I  congratulate  you,"  she  said.  "  Last  night  I 
thought  you  a  fool,  but  I  begin  to  think  that  you  are  wiser  than 
Lesbia.     You  have  won  the  heart  of  a  noble  young  man." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
"a  young  lamb's   heart  among  the  full-grown  flocks." 

For  three  too-happy  days  Mary  rejoiced  in  her  lover's  society. 
Maulevrier  was  with  them  everywhere,  by  brookside  and  fell,  on 
the  lake,  in  the  gardens,  in  the  billiard-room,  playing  propriety 
with  admirable  patience.  But  this  could  not  last  forever.  A 
young  man  who  has  to  win  name  and  fortune  and  a  home  for 
his  young  wife  cannot  spend  all  his  days  in  the  primrose  path. 
Fortunes  and  reputations  are  not  made  in  dawdling  beside  a 
mountain  stream  or  watching  the  play  of  sunlight  and  shadows 
on  a  green  hill-side ;  unless,  indeed,  one  were  a  new  Words- 
worth, and  even  then  fortune  and  renown  are  not  quickly 
made. 

And  again  Maulevrier,  who  had  been  a  marvel  of  good  nat- 
ure and  contentment  for  the  last  eight  weeks,  was  beginning  to 
be  tired  of  this  lovely  Lakeland.  Just  when  Lakeland  was 
daily  developing  into  new  beauty,  Maulevrier  began  to  feel  an 
itching  for  London,  where  he  had  a  comfortable  nest  in  the  Al- 
bany, and  which  was  to  his  mind  a  town  expressly  created  as  a 
center  or  starting-point  for  Newmarket,  Epsom,  Ascot  and 
Goodwood. 

So  there  came  a  morning  when  Mary  had  to  say  good-by  to 
those  two  companions  who  had  so  blessed  and  gladdened  her  life. 
It  was  a  bright,  sunshiny  morning,  and  all  the  world  looked  ga}^ 
which  seemed  very  unkind  in  Nature,  Mary  thought.  And  yet,  even 
in  the  sadness  of  this  parting,  she  had  much  reason  to  be  glad. 
As  she  stood  with  her  lover  in  the  library,  in  the  three  minutes 
of  tete-a-tete  stolen  from  the  argus-eyed  Fraulein,  folded  in  his 
arms,  looking  up  at  his  manly  face,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the 
mere  knowledge  that  she  belonged  to  him  and  was  beloved  by 
him  ought  to  sustain  and  console  her  even  in  long  years  of 
severance.  Yes,  even  if  he  were  one  of  the  knights  of  old, 
going  to  the  Holy  Land  on  a  crusade  full  of  peril  and  un- 
certainty. Even  then  a  woman  ought  to  be  brave,  having  such  a 
lover.  But  her  parting  was  to  be  only  for  a  few  months.  Mau- 
levrier promised  to  come  back  to  Fellside  for  the  August  sports. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  179 

and  Hammond  was  to  come  with  him.  Three  months — or  a 
little  more — and  they  were  to  meet  again. 

Yet  in  spite  of  these  arguments  for  courage  Mary's  face 
blanched  and  her  eyes  grew  unutterably  sad  as  she  looked  up 
at  her  lover. 

"  You  will  take  care  of  yourself,  Jack,  for  my  sake,  won't 
you,  dear,"  she  murmured.  "  If  you  should  be  ill  while  you 
are  in  London  ?     If  you  should  die — " 

"Life  is  very  uncertain,  love,  but  I  don't  feel  like  sickness 
or  death  just  at  present,"  answered  Hammond  cheerily.  "  In- 
deed, I  feel  that  the  present  is  full  of  sweetness,  and  the  future 
full  of  hope.  Don't  suppose,  dear,  that  I  am  not  grieved  at  this 
good-by ;  but  before  we  are  a  year  older  I  hope  the  time  will 
have  come  when  there  will  be  no  more  farewells  for  you  and 
me.  I  shall  be  a  very  uxorious  husband,  Molly.  I  shall  want 
to  spend  all  the  days  and  hours  of  my  life  with  you  ;  to  have 
not  a  fancy  or  a  pursuit  in  which  you  cannot  share  or  with  which 
you  cannot  sympathize.  I  hope  you  will  not  grow  tired  of 
me?" 

"  Tired  !  " 

Then  came  silence  and  a  long  farewell  kiss,  and  then  the 
voice  of  Maulevrier  shouting  in  the  hall,  just  in  time  to  warn 
the  lovers  before  Miss  Kirsch  opened  the  door  and  hastily  ex- 
claimed : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hammond,  we  have  been  looking  for  you  every- 
where. The  luggage  is  all  in  the  carriage,  and  Maulevrier  says 
there  is  only  just  time  to  get  to  the  station." 

In  another  minute  or  so  the  carriage  was  driving  down  the 
hill,  and  Mary  stood  in  the  porch  looking  after  the  travelers. 

"  It  seems  as  if  it  is  my  fate  to  stand  here  and  see  everybody 
drive  away,"  she  said  to  herself. 

And  then  she  looked  round  at  the  lovely  gardens,  bright  with 
spring  flowers,  the  trees  glorious  with  their  young,  fresh  foliage, 
and  the  vast  panorama  of  hill  and  dale,  and  felt  that  it  was  a 
wicked  thing  to  murmur  in  the  midst  of  such  a  world.  And  she 
remembered  the  great  unhoped-for  bliss  that  had  come  to  her 
within  the  last  four  days,  and  the  cloud  upon  her  brow  vanished, 
as  she  clasped  her  hands  in  childlike  joyousness. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  old  Helvellyn,"  she  exclaimed,  looking 
up  at  the  somber  crest  of  the  mountain.  "  Perhaps  if  it  had 
not  been  for  you  he  would  have  never  proposed." 

But  she  was  obliged  to  dismiss  this  idea  instantly ;  for  to 
suppose  John  Hammond's  avowal  of  his  love  an  accident,  the 
m&re  impulse  of  a  weak  moment,  would  be  despair.   Had  he  not 


I  So  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

told  her  how  she  had  grown  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  heart,  day 
by  day  and  hour  by  hour,  until  she  had  become  part  of  his 
life  ?  He  had  told  her  this — he,  in  whom  she  believed  as  in  the 
very  spirit  of  truth. 

She  wandered  about  the  gardens  for  an  hour  after  the  car- 
riage had  started  for  Windermere,  revisiting  every  spot  where 
she  and  her  lover  had  walked  together  within  the  last  three  days, 
living  over  again  the  rapture  of  those  hours,  repeating  to  her- 
self his  words,  recalling  his  looks,  with  the  fatuity  of  a  first  girl- 
ish love.  And  3^et,  amidst  the  silliness  inseparable  from  love's 
young  dream,  there  was  a  depth  of  true  womanly  feeling,  thought- 
ful, unselfish,  forecasting  a  future  which  was  not  to  travel  al- 
ways along  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance — a  future  in  which 
the  roses  were  not  always  to  be  thornless. 

John  Hammond  was  going  to  London  to  work  for  a  position 
in  the  world,  to  strive  and  labor  among  the  seething  mass  of 
strugglers  all  pressing  onward  for  the  same  goal — independence, 
wealth,  renown.  Little  as  Mary  knew  of  the  world  by  ex- 
perience, she  had  at  least  heard  the  wiseacres  talk ;  and  that 
which  she  had  heard  was  calculated  to  depress  rather  than  to 
inspire  industrious  youth.  She  had  heard  how  the  professions 
were  all  overcrowded,  how  a  mighty  army  of  young  men  were 
walking  the  hospitals,  all  intent  on  feeUng  the  pulses  and 
picking  the  pockets  of  the  rising  generation ;  how  at  the  bar 
men  were  growing  old  and  gray  before  they  saw  their  first  brief  ; 
how  competitors  were  elbowing  and  hustling  each  other  upon 
every  road,  thronging  at  every  gate.  And  while  masculine 
youth  strove  and  wrestled  for  places  in  the  race,  aunts  and 
sisters  and  cousins  were  pressmg  into  the  same  arena,  doing 
their  best  to  crowd  out  the  uncles  and  the  brothers  and  the 
nephews. 

"  Poor  Jack,"  sighed  Mary,  "  at  the  worst  we  can  go  to  the 
Red  River  country  and  grow  corn." 

This  was  her  favorite  fancy,  that  she  and  her  lover  should  find 
their  first  dwelling  in  the  new  world,  live  as  snugly  as  the  peas- 
ants lived  round  Grasmere,  and  humbly  wait  upon  fortune.  And 
yet  that  would  not  be  happiness,  unless  Maulevrier  were  to  come 
and  stay  with  them  every  Autumn.  Nothing  could  reconcile 
her  to  being  separated  from  Maulevrier  for  any  lengthened 
period. 

There  were  hours  in  which  she  Avas  more  hopeful,  and  defied 
the  wiseacres.  Clever  young  men  had  succeeded  in  the  past — 
clever  men  whose  hair  was  not  yet  gray  had  come  to  the  front 
in  the  present.     Granted  that  these  were  the  exceptional  men. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  i8i 

the  fine  flower  of  humanity.  Did  she  not  know  that  John  Ham- 
mond was  as  far  above  average  youth  as  Helvellyn  was  above 
yonder  mound  in  her  grandmother's  shrubbery  ? 

Yes,  he  would  succeed  in  literature,  in  politics,  in  whatever 
career  he  had  chosen  for  himself.  He  was  a  man  to  do  the 
thing  he  set  himself  to  do,  were  it  ever  so  difficult.  To  doubt 
his  success  would  be  to  doubt  his  truth  and  his  honesty  ;  for  he 
had  sworn  to  her  he  would  make  her  life  bright  and  happy,  and 
that  evil  days  should  never  come  to  her  ;  and  he  was  not  the 
man  to  promise  that  which  he  was  not  able  to  perform. 

The  house  seemed  terribly  dull  now  that  the  two  young  men 
were  gone.  There  was  an  oppressive  silence  in  the  drawing- 
room  which  had  lately  resounded  with  Maulevrier's  frank,  boy- 
ish laughter,  and  with  his  friend's  deep,  manly  tones — a  silence 
broken  only  by  the  click  of  Fraulein  Kirsch's  needles. 

The  Fraulein  was  not  disposed  to  be  sympathetic  or  agreea- 
ble about  Lady  Mary's  engagement.  Firstly,  she  had  not  been 
consulted  about  it.  The  thing  had  been  done,  she  considered, 
in  an  underhand  manner ;  and  Lady  Maulevrier,  who  had  be- 
gun by  being  altogether  opposed  to  the  match,  had  been  talked 
over  in  a  way  that  proved  the  latent  weakness  of  that  great 
lady's  character.  Secondly,  Miss  Kirsch,  having  herself  for 
some  reason  missed  such  joys  as  are  involved  in  being  wooed 
and  won,  was  disposed  to  look  sourly  upon  all  love  affairs  and 
to  take  a  despondent  view  of  all  matrimonial  engagements. 

She  did  not  say  anything  openly  uncivil  to  Mary  Haselden, 
but  she  let  her  see  that  she  pitied  her  and  despised  her  infatu- 
ated condition ;  and  this  was  so  unpleasant  that  Mary  was  fain 
to  fall  back  upon  the  society  of  ponies  and  terriers,  and  to  take 
up  her  pilgrim's  staff  and  go  wandering  over  the  hills,  carrying 
her  happy  thoughts  into  solitary  places,  and  sitting  for  hours  in 
a  heathery  hollow,  steeped  in  a  sea  of  summer  light,  and  trying 
to  paint  the  mountain  side  and  the  rush  of  the  waterfall.  Her 
sketching  book  was  an  excuse  for  hours  of  solitude,  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  an  endless  day-dream. 

Sometimes  she  went  among  her  humble  friends  in  the  Gras- 
mere  cottages,  or  in  the  villages  of  Great  and  Little  Langdale ; 
and  she  had  now  a  new  interest  in  these  visits,  for  she  had  made 
up  her  mind  that  it  was  her  solemn  duty  to  learn  housekeeping 
— not  such  housekeeping  as  might  have  been  learned  at  Fellside, 
supposing  she  had  mustered  the  courage  to  ask  the  dignified 
upper-servants  in  that  establishment  to  instruct  her  ;  but  such 
domestic  arts  as  are  needed  in  the  dwellings  of  the  poor.  The 
art  of  making  very  little  money  ^o  a  great  way  ;  the  art  of  s,iv 


i82  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

ing  grace,  neatness,  prettiness  to  the  smallest  rooms  and  the 
shabbiest  furniture ;  the  art  of  packing  all  the  ugly  appliances 
and  baser  necessities  of  daily  life,  the  pots  and  kettles  and 
brooms  and  pails,  into  the  narrowest  compass,  and  hiding  them 
from  the  aesthetic  eye.  Mary  thought  that  if  she  began  by 
learning  the  homely  devices  of  the  villagers — the  very  ABC 
of  cookery  and  housewifery — she  might  gradually  enlarge  upon 
this  simple  basis  to  suit  an  income  of  from  five  to  seven  hun- 
dred a-year.  The  house-mothers  from  whom  she  sought  infor- 
mation were  puzzled  at  this  sudden  curiosity  about  domestic 
matters.  They  looked  upon  the  thing  as  a  freak  of  girlhood 
which  became  eccentric  from  sheer  idleness  ;  yet  they  were  not 
the  less  ready  to  teach  Mary  anything  she  desired  to  learn. 
They  told  her  those  secret  arts  by  which  coppers  and  brasses 
were  made  things  of  beauty  and  meet  adornment  for  an  old  oak 
mantelshelf.  They  allowed  her  to  look  on  at  the  milking  of  the 
cow,  and  at  the  churning  of  the  butter,  and  at  bread-making, 
and  cake-making,  and  pie  and  pudding-making ;  and  some  pleas- 
ant hours  were  spent  in  the  acquirement  of  this  useful  knowl- 
edge. Mary  did  not  neglect  the  invalid  during  this  new  phase 
of  her  existence.  Lady  Maulevrier  was  a  lover  of  routine,  and 
she  liked  her  granddaughter  to  go  to  her  at  the  same  hour  every 
day.  From  eleven  to  twelve  was  the  time  for  Mary's  duty  as 
amanuensis.  Sometimes  there  were  no  letters  to  be  written. 
Sometimes  there  were  several ;  but  her  Ladyship  rarely  allowed 
the  task  to  go  beyond  the  stroke  of  noon.  At  noon  Mary  was 
free,  and  free  till  five  o'clock,  when  she  was  always  in  attend- 
ance and  ready  to  give  Lady  Maulevrier  her  afternoon  tea,  and 
sit  and  talk  with  her,  and  tell  her  any  scraps  of  local  news  which 
she  had  gathered  in  the  day. 

There  were  days  on  which  her  Ladyship  preferred  to  take  her 
tea  alone,  and  Mary  was  left  free  to  follow  her  own  devices  till 
dinner  time. 

"  I  do  not  feel  equal  even  to  your  society  to-day,  my  dear," 
her  Ladyship  would  say;  "go  and  enjoy  yourself  with  your  dogs 
and  your  tennis,"  forgetting  that  there  was  very  seldom  anybody 
on  the  premises  with  whom  Lady  Mary  could  play  tennis. 

But  in  these  lonely  days  of  Mary  Haselden's  life  there  was 
one  crowning  bliss  which  was  almost  enough  to  sweeten  solitude, 
and  take  away  the  sting  of  separation,  and  that  was  the  delight 
of  expecting  and  receiving  her  lover's  letters.  Busily  as  Mr. 
Hammond  must  needs  be  engaged  in  fighting  the  battle  of  life, 
he  was  in  no  way  wanting  in  his  duty  as  a  lover.     He  wrote 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  183 

to  Mary  every  other  day ;  but  though  his  letters  were  long,  they 
told  her  hardly  anything  of  himself  or  his  occupation.  He  wrote 
about  pictures,  books,  music,  such  things  as  he  knew  must  be  in- 
teresting to  her,  but  of  his  own  struggles  not  a  word. 

"  Poor  fellow,"  thought  Mary,  "  he  is  afraid  to  sadden  me  by 
telling  me  how  hard  the  struggle  is." 

Her  own  letters  to  her  betrothed  were  simple  outpourings  of 
girlish  love,  breathing  that  too  flattering  sweet  idolatry  which 
an  innocent  girl  gives  to  her  first  lover.  Mary  wrote  as  if  she 
herself  were  at  the  least  possible  value  among  created  things. 

With  one  of  Mr.  Hammond's  earlier  letters  came  the  engage- 
ment ring,  no  half-hoop  of  brilliants  or  sapphires,  rubies  or  em- 
eralds, but  only  a  massive  band  of  dead  gold,  on  the  inside  of 
which  was  engraved  this  posy — "  Forever." 

Mary  thought  it  the  loveliest  ring  she  had  ever  seen  in  her 
life. 

The  merry  month  of  May  was  half  over,  and  the  last  patch 
of  snow  had  vanished  from  the  crest  of  Helvellyn,  from  Eagle's 
Crag  and  Raven's  Crag,  and  Coniston  Old  Man.  Spring — 
slow  to  come  along  these  shadowy  gorges — had  come  in  real 
earnest  now.  Spring  that  is  almost  Summer ;  and  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  gardens  were  as  lovely  as  dreamland.  But  it  was  an 
unpeopled  paradise.  Mary  had  the  grounds  all  to  herself, 
except  at  those  stated  times  when  the  Fraulein,  who  was  grow- 
ing lazier  and  larger  day  by  day  in  her  leisurely  and  placid 
existence,  took  her  morning  and  afternoon  constitutional  on  the 
terrace  in  front  of  the  drawing-room,  or  slowly  and  solemnly 
perambulated  the  shrubberies. 

On  fine  days  Mary  lived  in  the  gardens,  save  when  she  was 
far  a-field  learning  in  the  domestic  art  from  the  cottagers. 
She  read  French  and  German,  and  worked  conscientiously  at 
her  intellectual  education,  as  well  as  at  domestic  economy.  For 
she  told  herself  that  accomplishments  and  culture  might  be 
useful  to  her  in  her  married  life.  She  might  be  able  to  increase 
her  husband's  means  by  giving  lessons  abroad  or  taking  pupils 
at  home.  She  was  ready  to  do  anything.  She  would  teach 
the  stupidest  children  or  scrub  floors  or  bake  bread.  There 
was  no  service  she  would  deem  degrading  for  his  sake.  She 
would  not  be  Lady  Mary  Hammond,  a  poor  sprig  of  nobiUty, 
but  plain  Mrs.  Hammond,  a  working  man's  wife. 

Lesbia's  presentation  was  over,  and  she  had  realized  all  Lady 
Kirkbank's  expectations.  The  society  papers  had  been  unani- 
mous in  pronouncing  her  the  prettiest  debutante  of  the  season. 
They  had  praised  her  classical  features,  the  admirable  poise  of 


i84  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

her  head,  her  peerless  complexion.  They  had  described  her 
dress  at  the  drawing-room;  they  had  described  her  "frocks" 
in  the  Park  and  at  Sandown.  They  had  expatiated  on  the  im- 
pression she  had  made  at  great  assemblies.  They  had  hinted 
at  even  royal  admiration.  All  this,  frivolous  fribble  though  it 
might  be.  Lady  Maulevrier  had  read  with  delight,  and  she  had 
been  still  more  gratified  by  Lesbia's  own  account  of  her  suc- 
cesses. But  as  the  season  advanced  Lesbia's  letters  to  her 
grandmother  grew  briefer — mere  hurried  scrawls  dashed  off 
while  the  carriage  was  at  the  door,  or  while  her  maid  w^as 
brushing  her  hair.  Lady  Maulevrier  divined  with  the  keen 
instinct  of  love  that  she  counted  for  very  little  in  Lesbia's  life, 
now  that  the  whirligig  of  society,  the  fret  and  fever  of  fashion 
had  begun. 

One  afternoon  in  May,  at  that  hour  when  Hyde  Park  is  full- 
est, and  the  carriages  move  slowly  in  triple  rank  along  the 
Lady's  Mile,  and  the  mounted  constables  jog  up  and  down  with 
a  business-like  air  which  sets  every  one  on  the  alert  for  the 
advent  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  just  at  that  hour  when  Lesbia 
sat  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  barouche,  and  distributed  gracious  bows 
and  enthralling  smiles  to  her  numerous  acquaintance,  Mary  rode 
slowly  down  the  Fell,  after  a  long  rambling  ride  on  the  safest 
and  most  venerable  of  mountain  ponies.  The  pony  was  gray, 
and  Mary  was  gray,  for  she  wore  a  neat  little  homespun  habit 
made  by  the  local  tailor,  and  a  neat  little  felt  hat  with  a  ptar- 
migan's feather. 

All  was  very  quiet  at  Fellside  as  she  went  in  at  the  stable 
gate.  There  was  not  an  underling  stirring  in  the  large  old 
stable  yard,  which  had  remained  almost  unaltered  for  a  century 
and  a  half,  for  Lady  Maulevrier,  while  spending  thousands  on 
the  new  part  of  the  house,  had  deemed  the  existing  stables 
good  enough  for  her  stud.  They  were  spacious  old  stables, 
built  as  sofidly  as  a  Norman  castle,  and  with  all  the  virtues  and 
all  the  vices  of  their  age. 

Mary  looked  round  her  with  a  sigh.  The  stillness  of  the 
place  was  oppressive,  and  within  doors  she  knew  there  would 
be  the  same  stillness,  made  still  more  oppressive  by  the  society 
of  the  Fraulein,  who  grew  duller  and  duller  every  day,  as  it 
seemed  to  Mary. 

She  took  her  pony  into  the  dusky  old  stable,  where  four 
other  ponies  began  rattling  their  halters  in  the  gloom  by  way  of 
greeting.  A  bundle  of  purple  tares  lay  ready  in  a  corner  for 
her  to  feed  her  favorites,  and  for  the  next  ten  minutes  or  so 
she  was  happily  employed  going  from  stall  to  stall  and  gratify 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  185 

ing  that  inordinate  appetite  for  green  meat  which  seems  natural 
to  all  horses. 

Not  a  groom  or  stable-boy  appeared  while  she  was  in  the  stable, 
and  she  was  just  going  away  when  her  attention  was  caught  by  a 
flood  of  sunshine  streaming  into  an  old  disused  harness  room  at 
the  end  of  the  stable — a  room  with  one  small  window  facing  the 
Fell. 

Whence  could  that  glow  of  western  light  come  ?  Assuredly 
not  from  the  low-latticed  window  which  faced  eastward,  and 
was  generally  obscured  by  a  screen  of  cobwebs.  The  room 
was  only  used  as  a  storehouse  for  lumber,  and  it  was  nobody's 
business  to  clean  the  window. 

Mary  looked  in,  curious  to  solve  the  riddle.  A  door  which 
she  had  often  noticed,  but  never  seen  opened,  now  stood  wide 
open,  and  the  old  quadrangular  garden,  which  was  James  Stead- 
man's  particular  care,  smiled  at  her  in  the  golden  evening 
light.  Seen  thus  this  little  old  Dutch  garden  seemed  to  Mary 
the  prettiest  thing  she  had  ever  looked  upon.  There  were  beds 
of  tulips  and  hyacinths,  ranunculus,  cyclamen,  tuberose,  making 
a  blaze  of  color  against  the  old  box  borders,  a  foot  high.  The 
crumbling  old  brick  walls  of  outbuildings,  and  that  dungeon- 
like wall  which  formed  the  back  of  the  new  house,  were  clothed 
with  clematis  and  wisteria,  woodbine  and  magnolia.  All  that 
loving  labor  could  do  had  been  done  day  by  day  for  the  last 
forty  years  to  make  this  confined  space  a  thing  of  beauty. 
Mary  went  out  of  the  dark  stable  into  the  sunny  garden,  and 
looked  round  her,  full  of  admiration  for  James  Steadman's 
work. 

"  If  ever  Jack  and  I  can  afford  to  have  a  garden,  I  hope  we 
shall  be  able  to  make  it  like  this,"  she  thought.  "  It  is  such  a 
comfort  to  know  that  so  small  a  garden  can  be  pretty ;  for  of 
course  any  garden  we  could  afford  must  be  small." 

Lady  Mary  had  no  idea  that  this  quadrangle  was  spacious  as 
compared  with  the  narrow  strip  allotted  to  many  a  suburban 
villa  calling  itself  "  an  eligible  residence." 

In  the  center  of  the  garden  there  was  an  old  sun-dial,  with  a 
stone  bench  at  the  base,  and  coming  slowly  round  the  circular 
yew-tree  hedge  which  environed  this  sun-dial,  and  from  which 
the  flower  beds  radiated  in  a  geometrical  pattern.  Lady 
Mary  was  surprised  to  see  an  old  man — a  very  old  man — 
sitting  on  this  bench,  and  basking  in  the  low  light  of  the  west- 
ering sun. 

His  figure  was  shrunken  and  bent,  and  he  sat  with  his  chin 
resting  on  the  handle  of  a  crutched  stick  and  his  head  leaning 


i86  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

forward.  His  long  white  hair  fell  in  thin  straggling  locks  over 
the  collar  of  his  coat.  He  had  an  old-world,  old-fashioned, 
mummvfied  aspect,  and  Mary  thought  he  must  be  ver)^,  very 
old. 

Very,  very  old !  In  a  flash  there  came  back  upon  her  the 
memory  of  John  Hammond's  curiosity  about  a  hoary  and 
withered  old  man  whom  he  had  met  on  the  Fell  in  the  early 
morning.  She  remembered  how  she  had  taken  him  to  see  old 
Sam  Barlow,  and  how  he  had  protested  that  Sam  in  no  wise 
resembled  the  strange-looking  old  man  of  the  Fell.  And  now 
here,  close  to  the  Fell,  was  a  face  and  figure  which  in  every 
detail  resembled  that  ancient  stranger  whom  Hammond  had 
described  so  graphically. 

It  was  very  strange.  Could  this  person  be  the  same  her 
lover  had  seen  two  months  ago  ?  And,  if  so,  had  he  been 
living  at  Fellside  all  the  time,  or  was  he  an  occasional  visitor 
of  Steadman's  ? 

While  she  stood  for  a  few  moments  meditating  thus,  the  old 
man  raised  his  head  and  looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  that 
burned  like  red-hot  coals  under  his  shaggy  white  brows.  The 
look  scared  her.  There  was  something  awful  in  it,  like  the 
gaze  of  an  evil  spirit,  a  soul  in  torment,  and  she  began  to  move 
away  with  sidelong  steps,  her  eyes  riveted  on  that  uncanny 
countenance. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  the  man,  with  an  authoritative  air,  rattling  his 
bony  fingers  upon  the  bench.  "  Sit  down  here  by  my  side 
and  talk  to  me.  Don't  be  frightened,  child.  You  wouldn't  if 
you  knew  what  they  say  of  me  indoors."  He  made  a  motion  of 
his  head  toward  the  windows  of  the  old  wing — "  '  Harmless,' 
they  say,  *  quite  harmless.  Let  him  alone,  he's  harmless.'  A 
tiger  with  his  claws  cut  and  his  teeth  drawn — an  old,  gray- 
bearded  tiger,  ghastly  and  grim,  but  harmless — a  cobra  with  the 
poison-bag  plucked  out  of  his  jaw.  The  venom  grows  again, 
child — the  snake's  venom — but  youth  never  comes  back.  Old, 
and  helpless,  and  harmless." 

Again  Mary  tried  to  move  away,  but  those  evil  eyes  held  her 
as  if  she  were  a  bird  riveted  by  the  gaze  of  a  serpent. 

"  Why  do  you  shrink  away?  "  asked  the  old  man,  frowning  at 
her.  ''  Sit  down  here  and  let  me  talk  to  you.  I  am  accustomed 
to  be  obeyed." 

Old  and  feeble  and  shrunken  as  he  was,  there  was  a  power  in 
his  tone  of  command  which  Mary  was  unable  to  resist.  She 
felt  very  sure  that  he  was  imbecile  or  mad.  She  knew  that 
madmen  are  apt  to  imagine  themselves  great  personages,  and 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  187 

to  take  upon  themselves,  with  a  wonderful  power  of  impersona- 
tion, the  dignity  and  authority  of  their  imaginary  rank  ;  and 
she  supposed  that  it  must  be  thus  with  this  strange  old  man. 
She  struggled  against  her  sense  of  terror,  looking  up  at  the 
windows  of  the  old  wing,  and  hoping  to  see  and  be  seen 
by  Steadman  and  his  wife.  After  all  there  could  be  no  real 
danger  in  the  broad  daylight,  within  the  precincts  of  her  own 
home,  within  call  of  the  household. 

She  seated  herself  on  the  bench  by  the  unknown,  willing  to 
humor  him  a  little  ;  and  he  turned  himself  about  slowly,  as  if 
every  bone  in  his  body  was  stiff  with  age,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  deliberate  scrutiny. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
"now  nothing  left  to  love  or  hate." 

The  old  man  sat  looking  at  Mary  in  silence  for  some  mo- 
ments ;  not  a  great  space  of  time  perhaps  as  marked  by  the 
shadow  on  the  dial  behind  them,  but  to  Mary  that  gaze  was  un- 
pleasantly prolonged.  He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  could  read 
every  pulsation  in  every  fiber  of  her  brain,  and  knew  exactly 
what  it  meant. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

'•My  name  is  Mary  Haselden." 

"  Haselden,"  he  repeated  musingly.  "  I  have  heard  that 
name  before." 

And  then  he  resumed  his  former  attitude,  his  chin  resting  on 
the  handle  of  his  stick,  his  eyes  bent  upon  the  gravel  path, 
their  unholy  brightness  hidden  under  the  penthouse  brows. 

"  Haselden,"  he  murmured,  and  repeated  the  name  over  and 
over  again,  slowl}^,  dreamily,  with  a  troubled  tone,  like  some 
one  trying  to  work  out  a  difficult  problem.  "  Haselden — when  ? 
where  ? " 

And  then  with  a  profound  sigh  he  muttered,  "  Harmless, 
quite  harmless.  You  may  trust  him  anywhere.  Memory  a 
blank,  a  blank,  a  blank,  my  lord  !  " 

His  head  sank  lower  upon  his  breast  and  again  he  sighed, 
the  sigh  of  a  spirit  in  torment,  Mary  thought.  Her  vivid  im- 
agination was  already  interested,  her  quick  sympathies  were 
awakened. 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  compassionately.     So  old,  so 


i88  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

infirm,  and  with  a  mind  astray;  and  3'et  there  were  indications 
in  his  speech  and  manner  that  told  of  reason  strugghng  against 
madness,  like  the  light  behind  storm-clouds.  He  had  tones 
that  spoke  of  a  keen  sensitiveness  to  pain,  not  the  lunatic's 
happy-go-lucky  temper.  She  observed  him  intently,  trying  to 
make  out  what  manner  of  man  he  was. 

He  did  not  belong  to  the  peasant  class,  of  that  she  felt  assured. 
The  shrunken,  tapering  hand,  so  white  and  withered  and  semi- 
transparent,  had  never  worked  at  peasant's  work.  The  profile 
turned  toward  her  was  delicate  to  effeminacy.  The  man's 
clothes  were  shabby  and  old-fashioned,  but  they  were  a  gentle- 
man's garments,  the  cloth  of  a  finer  texture  than  she  had  ever 
seen  worn  by  her  brother.  The  coat,  with  its  velvet  collar,  was 
of  an  old-world  fashion.  She  remembered  having  seen  just  such 
a  coat  in  an  engraved  portrait  of  Count  D'Orsay,  a  print  nearly 
fifty  years  old.  No  Dalesman  born  and  bred  ever  wore  such  a 
coat ;  no  tailor  in  the  Dales  could  have  made  it. 

The  old  man  looked  up  after  a  long  pause,  during  which 
Mary  felt  afraid  to  move.  He  looked  at  her  again  with  inquir- 
ing eyes,  as  if  her  presence  there  had  only  just  become  known 
to  him. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  he  asked  again. 

"  I  told  you  my  name  just  now.     I  am  Mary  Haselden." 

"  Haselden — that  is  a  name  I  knew  once.  Mary  ?  I  think 
my  mother's  name  was  Mary.  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  that.  You 
have  a  sweet  face,  Mary — like  my  mother's.  She  had  brown 
eyes,  like  yours,  and  auburn  hair.  You  don't  recollect  her,  per- 
haps ?  " 

"  Alas  !  poor  maniac,"  thought  Mary,  "  you  have  lost  all 
count  of  time.  Fifty  years  to  you  in  the  confusion  of  your  dis- 
traught brain,  are  but  as  yesterday." 

"  No,  of  course  not,  of  course  not,"  he  muttered  ;  "  how 
should  she  recollect  my  mother,  who  died  while  I  was  a  boy  1 
Impossible.     That  must  be  half  a  century  ago." 

"  Good-evening  to  you,"  said  Mary,  rising  with  great  effort, 
so  strong  was  her  feeling  of  being  spellbound  by  the  uncanny 
old  man.     "  I  must  go  indoors  now\" 

He  stretched  out  his  withered  old  hand,  small,  semi-trans- 
parent, with  the  blue  veins  showing  darkly  under  the  parchment- 
colored  skin,  and  grasped  Mary's  arm. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  pleaded  ;  "  I  like  your  face,  child  ;  I  like  your 
voice — I  like  to  have  you  here.  What  do  you  mean  by  going 
indoors  ?     Where  do  you  live  .-*  " 

"  There,"  said  Mary,  pointing  to  the  dead  wall  which  faced 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE  1S9 

them.  "  In  the  new  part  of  Fellside  House.  I  suppose  you  are 
staying  in  the  old  part  with  James  Steadman." 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  this  crazy  old  man  must  be  a 
relation  of  Steadman's,  to  whom  he  gave  hospitality  either  with 
or  without  her  Ladyship's  consent.  All  powerful  as  Lady  Maule- 
vrier  had  ever  been  in  her  own  house,  it  was  just  possible  that 
now,  when  she  was  a  prisoner  in  her  own  rooms,  certain  small 
liberties  might  be  taken,  even  by  so  faithful  a  servant  as  Stead- 
man. 

"  Staying  with  James  Steadman  .?"  repeated  the  old  man  in  a 
meditative  tone.  "  Yes,  I  stay  with  Steadman.  A  good  serv- 
ant ;  a  worthy  person.  It  is  only  for  a  little  while.  I  shall  be 
leaving  Westmoreland  next  week.  And  you  live  in  that  house, 
do  you .''  "  pointing  to  the  dead  wall.     "  Whose  house  t  " 

"  Lady  Maulevrier's.  I  am  Lady  Maulevrier's  granddaugh- 
ter." 

"  Lady  Mau-lev-rier."  He  repeated  the  name  in  syllables. 
"  A  good  name — an  old  title — as  old  as  the  conquest.  A  Nor- 
man race  those  Maulevriers.  And  you  are  Lady  Maulevrier's 
granddaughter  !  You  should  be  proud.  The  Maulevriers  were 
always  a  proud  race." 

"Then  I  am  no  true  Maulevrier,"  answered  Mary,  gayly. 

She  was  beginning  to  feel  more  at  ease  with  the  old  man. 
He  was  evidently  mad,  as  mad  as  a  March  hare ;  but  his  mad- 
ness seemed  only  the  harmless  lunacy  of  extreme  old  age.  He 
had  flashes  of  reason,  too.  To  youth  in  its  flush  of  life  and 
vigor  there  seems  something  so  unspeakably  sad  and  pitiable  in 
feebleness  and  age — the  brief  weak  remnant  of  life,  the  wreck 
of  body  and  mind,  sunning  itself  in  the  declining  rays  of  a  sun 
that  is  so  soon  to  shine  upon  its  grave. 

"  What,  are  you  not  proud  ?  "  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  been  taught  to  consider  myself  a  very 
insignificant  person  ;  and  I  am  going  to  marry  a  poor  man.  It 
would  not  become  me  to  be  proud." 

"  But  you  ought  not  to  do  that,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You 
ought  not  to  marry  a  poor  man.  Poverty  is  a  bad  thing,  my 
dear.  You  are  a  pretty  girl,  and  ought  to  marry  a  man  with  a 
handsome  fortune.  Poor  men  have  no  pleasure  in  this  world — 
they  might  just  as  well  be  dead.  I  am  poor,  as  you  see.  You 
can  tell  by  this  threadbare  coat " — he  looked  down  at  the 
sleeve,  from  which  the  nap  was  worn  in  places — "  I  am  as  poor 
as  a  church  mouse." 

"  But  you  have  kind  friends,  I  dare  say,"  Mary  said,  sooth- 
inHv.     "  You  are  well  taken  care  of,  I  am  sure." 


1 90  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

"  Yes,  I  am  well  taken  care  of — very  well  taken  care  of.  How 
long  is  it,  I  wonder — how  many  weeks,  or  months,  or  years — 
since  they  have  taken  care  of  me  ?  It  seems  a  long,  long  time; 
but  it  is  all  like  a  dream — a  long  dream.  Once  I  used  to  try 
and  wake  myself.  I  used  to  try  and  struggle  out  of  that  weary 
dream.  But  that  was  a  long  time  ago.  I  am  satisfied  now — I 
am  quite  content  now,  so  long  as  the  weather  is  warm,  and  I 
can  sit  out  here  in  the  sun." 

"  It  is  growing  chilly  now,"  said  Mary,  "  and  I  think  you 
ought  to  go  indoors.     I  know  that  I  must  go." 

"Yes,  I  must  go  in  now — I  am  getting  shivery,"  answered  the 
old  man,  meekly.  "  But  I  want  to  see  you  again,  Mary  ;  I  like 
your  face  and  I  like  your  voice.  It  strikes  a  string  here,"  touch- 
ing his  breast,  "  which  has  long  been  silent.  Let  me  see  you 
again,  child.     When  can  I  see  you  again  1 " 

"  Do  you  sit  here  every  afternoon  when  it  is  fine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  every  day ;  all  day  long  sometimes,  when  the  sun  is 
warm." 

"  Then  I  will  come  here  to  see  you." 

"  You  must  keep  it  a  secret,  then,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
crafty  look.  *'  If  you  don't  they  will  shut  me  up  in  the  house, 
perhaps.  They  don't  like  me  to  see  people,  for  fear  I  should 
talk.  I  have  heard  Steadman  say  so.  Yet  what  should  I  talk 
about,  heaven  help  me  ?  Steadman  says  my  memory  is  quite 
gone,  and  that  I  am  harmless — childish  and  harmless.  I  have 
heard  him  say  that.  You'll  come  again,  won't  you,  and  you'll 
keep  it  a  secret  ?  " 

Mary  deliberated  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  don't  like  secrets,"  she  said  ;  "  there  is  generally  some- 
thing dishonorable  in  them.  But  this  would  be  an  innocent  se- 
cret, wouldn't  it  ?  Well,  I'll  come  to  see  you,  somehow,  poor 
old  man  ;  and  if  Steadman  sees  me  here  I  will  make  everything 
right  with  him." 

"He  mustn't  see  you  here,"  said  the  old  man.  "  If  he  does 
he  will  shut  me  up  in  my  own  rooms  again  as  he  did  once,  years 
and  years  ago." 

"But  you  have  not  been  here  long,  have  you  ?  "  Mary  asked 
wonderingly. 

"  A  hundred  years,  at  least.  That's  what  it  seems  to  me 
sometimes.  And  yet  there  are  times  when  it  seems  only  a 
dream — a  long,  long  dream.  Be  sure  you  come  again  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Yes,  I  promise  you  to  come  ;  good-night." 

"  Good-night." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  191 

Mary  went  back  to  the  stable.  The  door  was  still  open,  but 
how  could  she  be  sure  that  it  would  be  open  to-morrow.  There 
was  no  other  access  that  she  knew  of  to  the  quadrangle,  except 
through  the  old  part  of  the  house,  and  that  was  at  all  times  in- 
accessible to  her. 

She  found  a  key,  a  big  old  rusty  key,  in  the  inside  of  the 
door,  so  she  shut  and  locked  it  and  put  the  key  in  her  pocket. 
The  door  she  supposed  had  been  left  open  by  accident,  at  any 
rate,  this  key  made  her  mistress  of  the  situation.  If  any  ques- 
tion should  arise  as  to  her  conduct,  she  could  have  an  explana- 
tion with  Steadman  ;  but  she  had  pledged  her  word  to  the  poor 
mad  old  man,  and  she  meant  to  keep  her  promise,  if  possible. 

As  she  left  the  stable  she  saw  Steadman  riding  toward  the 
gate  on  his  gray  cob.  She  passed  him  as  she  went  back  to  the 
house. 

Next  day,  and  the  day  after  that,  and  for  many  days,  Mary 
used  her  key,  and  went  into  the  quadrangle  at  sundown  to  sit 
for  half  an  hour  or  so  with  the  strange  old  man,  who  seemed  to 
take  an  intense  pleasure  in  her  company.  The  weather  was 
growing  warmer  as  May  wore  on  toward  June,  and  this  evening 
hour,  between  six  and  seven,  was  deliciously  bright  and  balmy. 
The  seat  by  the  sun-dial  was  screened  on  every  side  by  a  clipped 
yew  hedge,  dense  and  tall,  surrounding  the  circular,  graveled 
space,  in  the  center  of  which  stood  the  old  granite  dial,  with  its 
octagonal  pedestal  and  moss-grown  steps.  There,  as  in  a 
closely  shaded  arbor,  Lady  Mary  and  her  old  friend  were  alone 
and  unobserved.  The  yew-tree  boundary  was  at  least  eight  feet 
high,  and  Mary  and  her  companion  could  hardly  have  been 
seen  even  from  the  upper  windows  of  the  low,  old  house. 

Mary  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  going  for  her  walk  or  her  ride 
at  the  same  hour  every  day,  and  after  her  walk  or  ride  she 
slipped  through  the  stable,  and  joined  her  ancient  friend.  Sta- 
bles and  courtyard  were  generally  empty  at  this  hour,  the  men 
only  appearing  at  the  sound  of  a  big  bell,  which  summoned 
them  from  their  snuggery  when  they  were  wanted.  Most  of 
Lady  Maulevrier's  servants  had  arrived  at  that  respectable  stage 
of  long  service  in  which  fidelity  is  counted  as  a  substitute  for 
hard  work. 

The  old  man  was  not  particularly  conversational,  and  was 
apt  to  repeat  the  same  things  over  and  over  again,  with  a  sub- 
lime unconsciousness  of  being  prosy  ;  but  he  liked  to  hear  Mary 
talk,  and  he  listened  with  seeming  intelligence.  He  questioned 
her  about  the  world  outside  his  cloistered  life — the  news — and 
though  the  names  of  the  men  of  the  day  seemed  utterly  strange 


192 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


to  him,  and  he  had  to  have  them  repeated  to  him  again  and 
again,  yet  he  seemed  to  take  an  inteUigent  interest  in  the  stir- 
ring facts  of  the  time,  and  hstened  intently  when  Mary  gave 
him  a  synopsis  of  her  last  newspaper  reading. 

When  the  news  was  exhausted,  Mary  hit  upon  a  more  childish 
form  of  amusement,  and  that  was  to  tell  the  story  of  any  novel  or 
poem  she  had  lately  been  reading.  This  was  so  successful  that 
in  this  manner  Mary  related  the  stories  of  most  of  Shakespeare's 
plays;  of  Byron's  Bride  of  Abydos  and  Corsair;  of  Keat's  La- 
mia ;  of  Tennyson's  Idylls,  and  of  a  heterogeneous  collection  of 
poetry  and  romance,  in  all  of  which  stories  the  old  man  took  a 
vivid  interest. 

"You  are  better  to  me  than  the  sunshine,"  he  told  Mary  one 
day  when  she  was  leaving  him.  "  The  world  grows  darker  when 
you  leave  me." 

Once  at  this  parting  moment  he  took  both  her  hands  and 
drew  her  nearer  to  him,  peering  into  her  face  in  the  clear  even- 
ing light. 

"You  are  like  my  mother,"  he  said.  "Yes,  you  are  very  like 
her,  and  who  else  is  it  that  you  are  like  ?  There  is  some  one 
else,  I  know.  Yes,  some  one  else  !  I  remember  !  It  is  a  face 
in  a  picture — a  picture  at  Maulevrier  Castle." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  Maulevrier  Castle  ? "  asked  Mary 
wonderingly. 

Maulevrier  was  the  family  seat  in  Herefordshire,  which  had 
not  been  occupied  by  the  elder  branch  for  the  last  forty  years. 
Lady  Maulevrier  had  let  it  during  her  son's  minority  to  a  younger 
branch  of  the  family,  a  branch  which  had  intermarried  with  the 
world  of  successful  commerce,  and  was  richer  than  the  heads  of 
the  house.  This  occupation  of  Maulevrier  Castle  had  con- 
tinued to  the  present  time,  and  was  likely  still  to  continue,  Mau- 
levrier having  no  desire  to  set  up  housekeeping  in  a  feudal  castle 
in  the  marches. 

"  How  came  you  to  know  Maulevrier  Castle  ? "  repeated 
Mary. 

"  I  was  there  once,  and  there  is  a  picture  by  Lely,  a  portrait 
of  a  Lady  Maulevrier  in  Charles  the  Second's  time.  The  face 
is  yours,  my  love.  I  have  heard  of  such  hereditary  faces.  My 
mother  was  proud  of  resembling  that  portrait." 

"What  did  your  mother  know  of  Maulevrier  Castle  ?" 

The  old  man  did  not  answer.  He  had  lapsed  into  that 
dream-like,  half  imbecile  condition  into  which  he  often  sank, 
\yhen  his  brain  was  not  stimulated  to  attention  and  coherency 
by  his  interest  in  Mary's  narrations. 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 93 

Mary  concluded  that  this  man  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the 
Maulevrier  household,  perhaps  at  the  place  in  Herefordshire, 
and  that  all  his  old  memories  ran  in  one  groove — the  house  of 
Maulevrier. 

The  freedom  of  her  intercourse  with  him  was  undisturbed  for 
about  three  weeks  ;  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  came  face 
to  face  with  James  Steadman  as  she  emerged  from  the  circle  of 
greenery. 

"  You  here.  Lady  Mary  ?  "  he  exclaimed  with  an  angry  look. 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  sitting  talking  to  that  poor  old  man," 
Mary  answered  cheerily,  concluding  that  Steadman's  look  of 
vexation  arose  from  his  being  detected  in  the  act  of  harboring 
a  contraband  relation.  "  He  is  a  very  interesting  character. 
A  relation  of  yours,  I  suppose  t " 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  relation,"  replied  Steadman.  "  He  is  very  old, 
and  his  mind  has  long  been  gone.  Her  Ladyship  is  kind 
enough  to  allow  me  to  give  him  a  home  in  her  house.  He 
is  quite  harmless  and  he  is  in  nobody's  way." 

"  Of  course  not,  poor  soul.  He  is  only  a  burden  to  himself. 
He  talks  as  if  his  life  had  been  very  weary.  Has  he  been  long 
in  that  sad  state  t " 

"  Yes,  a  long  time." 

Steadman's  manner  to  Lady  Mary  was  curt  at  the  best  of 
times.  She  had  always  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of  him,  as  a 
person  delegated  with  authority  by  her  grandmother,  a  servant 
who  was  much  more  than  a  servant.  But  to-day  his  manner 
was  more  abrupt  than  usual. 

"  He  spoke  of  Maulevrier  Castle  just  now,"  said  Mary,  deter- 
mined not  to  be  put  down  too  easily.  "  Was  he  once  in  serv- 
ice there  ? " 

"  He  wis.  Pray  how  did  you  find  your  way  into  this  gar- 
den. Lady  Mary  t  " 

"  I  came  through  the  stable.  As  it  is  my  grandmother's 
garden,  I  suppose  I  did  not  take  an  unwarrantable  liberty  in 
coming,"  said  Mary,  drawing  herself  up  and  ready  for  battle. 

"  It  is  Lady  Maulevrier's  wish  that  this  garden  should  be 
reserved  for  my  use,"  answered  Steadman.  "  Her  Ladyship 
knows  that  my  uncle  walks  here  of  an  afternoon,  and  that,  owing 
to  his  age  and  infirmities,  he  can  go  nowhere  else,  and  if  only  on 
that  account  it  is  well  that  the  garden  should  be  kept  private. 
Lunatics  are  rather  dangerous  company.  Lady  Mary,  andT  ad- 
vise you  to  give  them  a  wide  berth  wherever  you  may  meet 
them?' 

'*  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  uncle,"  said  Mary  resolutely.     "  You 


194 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 


said  yourself  just  now  that  he  is  quite  harmless,  and  I  am  really 
interested  in  him,  poor  old  creature.  He  likes  me  to  sit  with 
him  a  little  of  an  afternoon  and  to  talk  to  him  ;  and  if  you  have 
no  objection  I  should  like  to  do  so,  whenever  the  weather  is 
fine  enough  for  the  poor  old  man  to  be  out  in  the  garden  at 
this  hour." 

-'  I  have  a  very  great  objection,  Lady  Mary,  and  that  objec- 
tion is  chiefly  in  your  interest,"  answered  Steadman  firmly. 
"No  one  who  is  not  experienced  in  the  ways  of  lunatics  can 
imagine  the  danger  of  any  association  with  them — their  con- 
summate craftiness,  their  capacity  for  crime.  Every  madman 
is  harmless  up  lo  a  certain  point — mild,  inoffensive,  perhaps, 
up  to  the  very  moment  in  which  he  commits  some  appalling 
crime.  And  then  people  cry  out  upon  the  want  of  prudence, 
the  want  of  common  sense  which  allowed  such  an  act  to  be 
possible.  No,  Lady  Mary,  I  understand  the  benevolence  of 
your  motive,  but  I  cannot  permit  you  to  run  such  risk." 

"I  am  convinced  that  the  poor  old  creature  is  perfectly 
harmless,"  said  Mary,  with  suppressed  indignation.  "  I  shall 
certainly  ask  Lady  Maulevrier  to  speak  to  you  upon  the  subject. 
Perhaps  her  influence  may  induce  you  to  be  a  little  more  con- 
siderate to  your  unhappy  relation." 

"  Lady  Mary,  I  beg  you  not  to  say  a  word  to  Lady  Maule- 
vrier on  this  subject.  You  will  do  me  the  greatest  injury  if  you 
speak  of  that  man.     I  entreat  you — " 

But  Mary  was  gone.  She  passed  Steadman  with  her  head 
held  high  and  her  eyes  sparkling  with  anger.  All  that  was 
generous,  compassionate,  womanly  in  her  nature  was  up  in 
arms  against  her  grandmother's  steward.  Of  all  other  things, 
Mary  Haselden  most  detested  cruelty;  and  she  could  see  in 
Steadman's  opposition  to  her  wish  nothing  but  the  most  cold- 
hearted  cruelty  to  a  poor  dependent  on  his  charity. 

She  went  in  at  the  stable  door,  shut  and  locked  it  and  put 
the  key  in  her  pocket  as  usual.  But  she  had  little,  hope  that 
this  mode  of  access  would  be  left  open  to  her.  She  knew 
enough  of  James  Steadman's  character,  from  hearsay  rather 
than  from  experience,  to  feel  sure  that  he  would  not  easily 
give  way.  She  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  on  returning  from 
her  ride  or:>  the  following  afternoon,  to  find  the  disused  harness- 
room  half  filled  with  trusses  of  straw,  and  the  door  of  communi- 
cation completely  blocked.  It  would  be  impossible  for  her  to 
remove  that  barricade  without  assistance  ;  and  then  how  could 
she  be  sure  that  the  door  itself  was  not  nailed  up,  or  secured  in 
some  way  ? 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  1 95 

It  was  a  delicious,  sunny  afternoon,  and  she  could  picture 
the  lonely  old  man,  sitting  in  his  circle  of  greenery,  beside  the 
dial  which  for  him  had  registered  so  many  dreary  and  solitary 
hours,  waiting  for  the  little  ray  of  social  sunlight  which  her 
presence  shed  over  his  monotonous  life.  He  had  told  her  that 
she  was  like  the  sunlight  to  him — better  than  sunshine — and 
she  had  promised  not  to  forsake  him.  She  pictured  him  wait- 
ing, with  his  hands  clasped  upon  his  old-fashioned  cane,  his 
chin  resting  on  his  hands,  his  eyes  poring  on  the  ground,  as  she 
had  seen  him  for  the  first  time.  And  as  the  stable  clock  chimed 
the  quarters  he  would  begin  slowly  to  think  himself  abandoned, 
forgotten  ;  if,  indeed,  he  took  any  count  of  the  passage  of  time, 
of  which  she  was  not  sure.  His  mind  seemed  to  her  to  have 
sunk  into  a  condition  which  was  between  dreaming  and  waking, 
a  state  in  which  the  outside  world  seemed  only  half  real — a 
phase  of  being  in  which  there  was  neither  past  nor  future,  only 
the  insufferable  monotony  of  an  everlasting  now. 

Pity  is  so  nearly  akin  to  love  that  Mary,  in  her  deep  compas- 
sion for  this  lonely,  joyless,  loveless  existence,  felt  a  regard 
which  was  almost  affection  for  this  strange  old  man,  whose  very 
name  was  unknown  to  her.  True  that  there  was  much  in  his 
countenance  and  manner  which  was  sinister  and  repellant. 
He  was  a  being  calculated  to  inspire  fear  rather  than  love  ; 
but  the  fact  that  he  had  courted  her  presence  and  looked  to  her 
for  consolation  had  touched  Mary's  heart  and  she  had  become 
reconciled  to  all  that  was  forbidding  and  disagreeable  in  the 
lunatic's  physiognomy.  Was  he  not  the  victim  of  a  visitation 
which  entitled  him  to  respect  as  well  as  to  pity  ? 

For  some  days  Mary  held  her  peace,  remembering  Stead- 
man's  vehement  entreaty  that  she  should  not  speak  of  this 
subject  to  her  grandmother.  She  was  silent,  but  the  image  of 
the  old  man  haunted  her  at  all  times  and  seasons.  She  saw 
him  even  in  her  dreams — those  happy  dreams  of  the  girl  who 
loves  and  is  beloved,  and  before  whom  the  pathway  of  the  fut- 
ure smiles  like  a  vision  of  Paradise.  She  heard  him  calling  to 
her  with  a  piteous  cry  of  distress,  and  on  waking  from  this 
troubled  dream  she  fancied  that  he  must  be  dying,  and  that 
this  sound  in  her  dreams  was  one  of  those  ghostly  -varnings 
which  gave  notice  of  death.  She  was  so  unhappy  about  him, 
altogether  so  distressed  at  being  compelled  to  break  her  word, 
that  she  could  not  prevent  her  thoughts  from  dwelling  upon 
him,  not  even  after  she  had  poured  out  all  her  trouble  to  John 
Hammond  in  a  long  letter,  in  which  her  garden  adventures  and 
her  little  skirmish  with  Steadman  was  orraphically  described. 


1 96  PHA  NTOM  FOR  Ti  WE. 

To  her  intense  discomfiture  Hammond  replied  that  he  thor- 
oughly approved  of  Steadman's  conduct  in  the  matter.  How- 
ever agreeable  Mary's  society  might  be  to  the  lunatic,  Mary's 
life  was  far  too  precious  to  be  put  within  the  possibility  of  peril 
by  any  such  tete-a-tetes.  If  the  person  was  the  same  old  man 
whom  Hammond  had  seen  on  the  Fell  he  was  a  most  sinister- 
looking  creature,  of  whom  any  evil  act  might  be  fairly  antici- 
pated. In  a  word,  Mr.  Hammond  took  Steadman's  view  of  the 
matter,  and  entreated  his  dearest  Mary  to  be  careful,  and  not 
to  allow  her  warm  heart  to  place  herself  in  circumstances  of 
peril. 

This  was  most  disappointing  to  Mary,  who  expected  her 
lover  to  agree  with  her  upon  every  point ;  and  if  he  had  been  at 
Fellside  the  difference  of  opinion  might  have  given  rise  to 
their  first  quarrel.  But  as  she  had  a  few  hours  leisure  for 
reflection  before  the  post  went  out,  she  had  time  to  get  over  her 
anger,  and  to  remember  that  promise  of  obedience  given,  half 
in  jest  half  in  earnest,  at  the  little  inn  beyond  Dunmail  Raise. 
So  she  wrote  submissively  enough,  only  with  just  a  touch  of 
reproach  at;  Jack's  want  of  compassion  for  a  poor  old  man  who 
had  such  strong  claims  upon  everybody's  pity. 

The  image  of  the  poor  old  man  was  not  to  be  banished  from  her 
thoughts,  and  on  that  very  afternoon,  when  her  letter  was  dis- 
patched, Mary  went  on  a  visit  of  exploration  to  the  stables,  to 
see  if  by  any  chance  Mr.  Steadman's  plans  for  isolating  his 
unhappy  relative  might  be  circumvented. 

She  went  all  over  the  stables — into  loose  boxes,  harness  and 
saddle  rooms,  sheds  for  wood,  and  sheds  for  roots — but  she 
found  no  door  opening  into  the  quadrangle,  save  that  door  by 
which  she  had  entered,  and  which  was  securely  defended  by  a 
barricade  of  straw  that  had  been  doubled  by  a  fresh  delivery  of 
trusses  since  she  first  saw  it.  But  while  she  was  prowling  about 
the  sweet-scented  stable,  much  disappointed  at  the  result  of  her 
investigations,  she  stumbled  against  a  ladder  which  led  to  an 
open  trap-door.  Mary  mounted  the  ladder,  and  found  herself 
amidst  the  dusty  atmosphere  of  a  large  hayloft,  half  in  shadow, 
half  in  the  hot  bright  sunlight.  A  large  shutter  was  open  in  the 
sloping  roof,  the  roof  that  sloped  toward  the  quadrangle,  an 
open  patch  admitting  light  and  air.  Mary,  light  and  active  as  a 
squirrel,  sprang  upon  a  truss  of  hay,  and  in  another  moment  had 
swung  herself  into  the  opening  of  the  shutter,  and  was  standing 
with  her  feet  on  the  wooden  ledge  at  the  bottom  of  the  massive 
frame,  and  her  fi.G:ure  supported  against  the  slope  of  the  thick 
thatched  roof.     Perched,  or  half  suspended,  thus,  she  was  just 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUiVE.  1 97 

high  enough  to  look  over  the  top  of  the  yew-tree  hedge  into  the 
circle  about  the  sun-dial. 

Yes,  there  was  the  unhappy  victim  of  fate  and  man's  inhu- 
manity to  man.  There  sat  the  shrunken  figure,  with  bent  head, 
and  melancholy  altitude — the  bent  shoulders  of  feeble  old  age, 
the  patriarchal  locks  so  appealing  to  pity.  There  he  sat  with 
drooping  head,  and  eyes  poring  upon  the  ground,  just  as  she  had 
seen  him  the  first  time.  And  while  she  had  sat  with  him  and 
talked  with  him  he  had  seemed  to  awaken  out  of  that  dull  de- 
spondency, gleams  of  pleasure  had  lighted  up  his  w-rinkled  face — 
he  had  grown  animated,  a  sentient  living  being,  instead  of  a 
corpse  alive.  It  was  very  hard  that  this  little  interval  of  life, 
these  stray  gleams  of  gladness,  should  be  denied  to  the  poor  old 
creature  at  the  behest  of  James  Steadman. 

Mary  would  have  felt  less  angry  upon  the  subject  had  she  be- 
lieved in  Steadman's  supreme  carefulness  of  her  own  safety,  but 
in  this  she  did  not  believe.  She  looked  upon  the  house-steward's 
prudence  as  a  hypocritical  pretense,  an  affectation  of  fidelity  and 
wisdom,  by  which  he  contrived  to  gratify  the  evil  tendencies  01 
his  own  cruel  and  hard  nature.  For  some  reason  of  his  own, 
perhaps  constrained  thereto  by  necessity,  he  had  given  the  old 
man  an  asylum  for  his  age  and  infirmity  ;  but  while  thus  giving 
him  shelter  he  considered  him  a  burden,  and  from  mere  perver- 
sity of  mind  refused  him  all  such  consolations  as  were  possible 
to  his  afflicted  state,  mewed  him  up  as  a  prisoner,  cut  him  off 
from  the  companionship  of  his  fellow  men. 

Two  years  ago,  before  Mary  emerged  from  her  tomboy-hood, 
she  would  have  thought  very  little  of  letting  herself  out  of  the 
loft  window  and  clambering  down  the  side  of  the  stable,  which 
was  well  furnished  with  those  projections  in  the  way  of  gutters, 
drain-pipes  and  century-old  ivy  which  make  such  a  descent  easy. 
Two  years  ago  Mary's  light  figure  would  have  swung  itself  down 
among  the  ivy  leaves,  and  she  would  have  glorified  in  the  thought 
of  circumventing  James  Steadman  so  easily.  But  now  Mary 
was  a  young  lady — a  young  lady  engaged  to  be  married,  and 
impressed  with  the  responsibility  of  her  position,  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  weight  of  her  dignity,  for  the  preservation  of 
which  she  was  in  a  manner  answerable  to  her  lover. 

"  What  would  he  think  of  me  if  I  went  scrambling  down  the 
ivy,"  she  asked  herself,  "  and  after  he  has  approved  of  Stead- 
man's  heartless  restrictions  "i  It  would  be  rank  rebellion  against 
him  if  I  were  to  do  it.  Poor  old  man.  '  Thou  art  so  near  and 
yet  so  far,'  as  Lesbia's  song  says." 

She  blew  a  kiss  on  the  tips  of  her  fingers  toward  that  sad,  sol 


1 98  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

itary  figure,  and  then  dropped  back  into  the  dusty  duskiness  of 
the  loft.  But  although  her  new  ideas  upon  the  subject  of  An- 
stand-:— or  good  behavior — prevented  her  getting  the  better  of 
Steadman  by  foul  means,  she  was  always  the  more  intent  upon 
having  her  own  w^ay  by  fair  means,  now  that  her  impression  of 
the  old  man's  sadness  and  solitude  had  been  renewed  by  the 
sight  of  the  drooping  figure  by  the  sun-dial. 

She  went  back  to  the  house  and  walked  straight  to  her  grand- 
mother's room.  Lady  Maulevrier's  couch  had  been  placed  in 
front  of  the  open  window,  from  which  she  was  watching  the  west- 
ward sloping  sun  above  the  long  line  of  hills,  dark  Helvellyn, 
rugged  Nabb  Scar,  and  verdant  Fairfield,  with  its  two  giant  arms 
stretched  out  to  enfold  and  shelter  the  smiling  valley. 

"  Heavens,  child,  w^hat  an  object  you  are  !  "  exclaimed  her 
Ladyship,  as  Mary  drew  near.  "  Why,  your  gown  is  all  over  dust, 
and  your  hair — why  your  hair  is  sprinkled  with  hay  and  clover. 
I  thought  you  had  learnt  to  be  tidy  since  your  engagements. 
What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  1 " 

"  I  have  been  up  to  the  hay  loft,"  answered  Mary  frankly,  and 
intent  on  one  idea  she  said  impetuously  :  "  Dear  grandmother,  I 
want  you  to  do  me  a  favor — a  very  great  favor.  There  is  a  poor 
old  man,  a  relation  of  Steadman'S;  who  lives  with  him,  out  of 
his  mind,  but  quite  harmless,  and  he  is  so  sad  and  lonely,  so 
dreadfully  sad,  and  likes  me  to  sit  with  him  in  the  garden,  and 
tell  him  stories,  and  recite  verses  to  him,  poor  soul,  just  as  if  he 
were  a  child,  don't  you  know,  and  it  is  such  pleasure  to  me  to 
be  a  little  comfort  to  him  in  his  lonely,  wretched  life,  and  James 
Steadman  says  I  mustn't  go  near  him,  because  he  might  change 
at  any  moment  into  a  dangerous  lunatic,  and  do  me  some  kind 
of  harm,  and  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid,  and  I'm  sure  he  won't  do  any- 
thing of  the  kind,  and  please,  grandmother,  tell  Steadman  that 
I  am  to  be  allowed  to  go  and  sit  with  his  poor  old  prisoner  half 
an  hour  every  afternoon." 

Carried  along  by  the  current  of  her  own  impetuous  thoughts, 
Mary  had  talked  very  fast,  and  had  not  once  looked  at  her 
grandmother  while  she  was  speaking.  But  now  at  the  end  of 
her  speech  her  eyes  sought  Lady  Maulevrier's  face  in  gentle  en- 
treaty, and  Mary  recoiled  involuntarily  at  the  sight  she  saw 
there. 

The  queenly  classic  features  were  distorted  almost  as  they 
had  been  in  the  worst  period  of  the  paralytic  seizure.  Lady 
Maulevrier  was  ghastly  pale,  and  her  eyes  glared  with  an  awful 
fire  as  they  gazed  at  Mary.  Her  whole  frame  was  convulsed, 
and  she,  the  cripple,  whose  right  limbs  lay  numbed  and  motion- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  199 

less  upon  the  couch,  made  a  struggling  motion  as  she  raised  her- 
self a  little  with  the  left  arm,  as  if  by  very  force  of  angry  will  she 
would  have  lifted  herself  up  erect  before  the  girl  who  had  of- 
fended her. 

For  a  few  moments  her  lips  moved  dumbly,  and  there  was 
something  unspeakably  awful  in  those  convulsed  features,  that 
livid  countenance,  and  those  voiceless  syllables  trembling  upon 
the  white  dry  lips. 

At  last  speech  came. 

"  Girl,  you  were  created  to  torment  me  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Dear  grandmother,  what  harm  have  I  done  ? "  faltered 
Mary. 

"  What  harm  ?  You  are  a  spy.  Your  very  existence  is  a  tor- 
ment and  a  danger.  Would  to  God  that  you  were  married.  Yes, 
married  to  a  chimney-sweep,  even — and  out  of  my  way." 

"  If  that  is  your  only  difficulty,"  said  Mary,  firing  up,  "  I  dare 
say  Mr.  Hammond  would  be  kind  enough  to  marry  me  to-morrow, 
and  take  me  out  of  your  Ladyship's  way." 

Lady  Maulevrier's  head  sank  back  upon  her  pillows,  those 
velvet  or  satin  pillows  with  delicate  point  lace  and  crewel  work 
adornment,  the  labor  of  Mary  and  Fraulein — pillows  which 
could  not  bring  peace  to  the  weary  head,  or  deaden  the  tortures 
of  memory.  The  pale  face  recovered  its  wonted  calm,  the  heavy 
lids  drooped  over  the  weary  eyes,  and  for  a  few  moments  there 
was  silence  in  the  room. 

Then  Lady  Maulevrier  raised  her  eyelids  and  looked  at  her 
granddaughter,  imploringly,  pathetically. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mary,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  know  what  I  was 
saying  just  now,  but  whatever  it  was  forgive  and  forget  it.  I  am 
a  wretched  old  woman,  heart  sick,  heart  sore,  worn  out  by  pain 
and  weariness.  There  are  times  when  I  am  beside  myself,  when 
I  am  not  much  more  than  Steadman's  lunatic  uncle.  This  is 
one  of  my  days,  and  you  came  bouncing  in  upon  me  and  tor- 
tured my  nerves  by  your  breathless  torrent  of  words.  Pray 
forgive  me  if  I  said  anything  rude." 

"  If,"  thought  Mary,  but  she  tried  to  be  charitable  and  to  be- 
lieve that  Lady  Maulevrier's  attack  upon  her  was  a  new  phase 
of  hysteria,  and  she  murmured  meekly,  "There  is  nothing  for  me 
to  forgive,  grandmamma,  and  I  am  very  sorry  I  disturbed  you." 

She  was  going  to  leave  the  room,  thinking  that  her  absence 
would  be  a  relief  to  the  invalid,  when  Lady  Maulevrier  called 
her  back. 

"  You  were  asking  me  something — something  about  that  old 
man  of  Steadman's,"  she  said  with  a  weary  air,  half  indifference, 


200  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

half  the  lassitude  natural  to  an  invalid  who  sinks  under  the  bur- 
den of  monotonous  days.     "  What  was  it  all  about  ?     I  forget." 

Mary  restated  her  request,  but  this  time  in  much  more  meas- 
ured tones. 

"  My  dear,  I  am  sure  that  Steadman  was  only  properly  pru- 
dent," answered  Lady  Maulevrier,  "  and  that  it  would  never  do 
for  me  to  interfere  in  this  matter.  It  stands  to  reason  that  he 
must  know  his  old  kinsman's  temperament  much  better  than  you 
can,  after  your  half  hour  interviews  with  him  in  the  garden.  Pray 
how  long  have  these  garden  scenes  been  going  on,  by  the  bye  1 " 
asked  her  Ladyship  with  a  searching  look  at  Mary's  downcast 
face. 

The  girl  had  not  altogether  recovered  from  the  rude  shock  of 
her  grandmother's  late  attack. 

"About  three  weeks,"  faltered  Mary.  "  But  it  is  more  than 
a  week  now  since  I  was  in  the  garden.  It  was  quite  by  acci- 
dent that  I  first  went  there.     Perhaps  I  ought  to  explain." 

And  Mary,  not  being  gainsayed,  went  on  to  describe  that  first 
afternoon  when  she  had  seen  the  old  man  brooding  in  the  sun. 
She  drew  quite  a  pathetic  picture  of  his  joyless  solitude,  whilst 
all  nature  around  and  about  him  was  looking  so  glad  in  the 
spring  sunshine.  There  was  a  long  silence,  a  silence  of  some 
minutes,  when  she  had  done  ;  and  Lady  Maulevrier  lay  with  low- 
ered eyelids,  deep  in  thought.  Mary  began  to  hope  that  she  had 
touched  her  grandmother's  heart,  and  that  her  request  would  be 
granted  ;  but  she  was  soon  undeceived. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  refuse  you  a  favor,  Mary,  but  I 
must  stand  by  Steadman,"  said  her  Ladyship.  "When  I  gave 
Steadman  permission  to  shelter  his  aged  kinsman  in  my  house  I 
made  it  a  condition  that  the  old  man  should  be  kept  in  the  strict- 
est care  by  himself  and  his  wife,  and  that  nobody  in  this  estab- 
lishment should  be  troubled  by  him.  Tiiis  condition  has  been 
so  scrupulously  adhered  to  that  the  old  man's  existence  is  known 
to  no  one  in  this  house  except  you  and  me,  and  you  have  discover- 
ed the  fact  only  by  accident.  I  must  beg  you  to  keep  this  secret 
to  yourself.  Steadman  has  particular  reasons  for.  wishing  to 
conceal  the  fact  of  his  uncle's  residence  here.  The  old  man  is 
not  actually  a  lunatic.  If  he  were  we  should  be  violating  the 
law  by  keeping  him  here.  He  is  only  imbecile  from  extreme 
old  age  ;  the  body  has  outlived  the  mind,  that  is  all.  But  should 
any  officious  functionary  come  down  upon  Fellside  this  imbecil- 
ity would  be  called  madness,  and  the  poor  old  creature  whom 
you  regard  so  compassionately,  and  whose  case  you  think  so 
pitiable  here,  would  be  carried  off  to  a  pauper  lunatic  asylum, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  201 

which  I  can  assure  you  would  be  a  much  worse  imprisonment 
than  Fcllside  Manor." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  grandmother,"  exclaimed  Mary,  whose  vivid 
imagination  conjured  up  a  vision  of  padded  cells,  strait-waist- 
coats, murderously  inclined  keepers,  chains,  handcuffs  and  bread 
and  water  diet ;  "  now  I  understand  why  the  poor  old  soul  has  been 
kept  so  close — why  nobody  knows  of  his  existence.  I  beg  Stead- 
man's  pardon  with  all  my  heart.  He  is  a  much  better  fellow 
than  I  thought  him." 

"  Steadman  is  a  thoroughly  good  fellow,  and  as  true  as  steel," 
said  her  Ladyship.  "  No  one  can  know  that  so  well  as  the  mis- 
tress he  has  served  faithfully  for  nearly  half  a  century.  I  hope, 
Mary,  you  have  not  been  chattering  to  Fraulein  or  any  one  else 
about  your  discovery." 

"  No,  grandmamma,  1  have  not  said  a  word  to  a  mortal, 
but—" 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  '  but '  is  there  ?  I  understand.  You  have 
not  been  so  reticent  in  your  letters  to  Mr.  Hammond." 

"  I  tell  him  all  that  happens  to  me,  grandmamma.  There  is 
very  little  to  write  about  at  Fellside,  yet  I  contrive  to  send  him 
volumes.  I  often  wonder  what  poor  girls  did  in  the  days  of 
Miss  Austen's  novels,  when  letters  cost  a  shilling  or  eighteen- 
pence  for  postage,  and  had  to  be  paid  by  the  recipient.  It  must 
have  been  such  a  terrible  check  upon  affection." 

"And  upon  twaddle,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier.  "Well,  you 
told  Mr.  Hammond  about  Steadman's  old  uncle.  What  did  he 
say  ? " 

"  He  thoroughly  approved  Steadman's  conduct  in  forbidding 
me  to  go  and  see  him/'  answered  Mary.  "  I  couldn't  help  think- 
ing it  rather  unkind  of  him  ;  but,  of  course,  I  feel  that  he  must 
be  right,"  concluded  Mary,  as  much  as  to  say  that  her  lover  was 
necessarily  infallible. 

"  I  always  thought  Mr.  Hammond  a  sensible  young  man,  and 
I  am  glad  to  find  that  his  conduct  does  not  belie  my  good  opinion," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  And  now,  my  dear,  you  had  better  go 
and  make  yourself  decent  before  dinner.  I  am  very  weary  this 
afternoon,  and  even  our  little  talk  has  exhausted  me." 

"  Yes,  dear  grandmamma,  I  am  going  this  instant.  But  let 
me  ask  one  question  :  What  is  the  poor  old  man's  name  t  " 

"  His  name,"  said  her  Ladyship,  looking  at  Mary  with  a  puz- 
zled air,  like  a  person  whose  thoughts  are  far  away.  "  His 
name — oh,  Steadman,  I  suppose,  like  his  nephew's  ;  but  if  I  ever 
heard  the  name  1  have  forgotten  it,  and  I  don't  know  whether 
the  kinship  is  on  the  father's  or  the  mother's  side.     Steadman 


202  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

asked  my  permission  to  give  shelter  to  a  helpless  old  relative, 
and  I  gave  it.     That  is  really  all  I  remember." 

"Only  one  other  question,  grandmamma,"  pleaded  Mary, 
who  was  brimful  of  curiosity  upon  this  particular  subject.  "  Has 
he  been  at  Fellside  very  long  t  " 

"  Oh,  I  really  don't  know ;  a  year  or  two,  or  three,  perhaps. 
Life  in  this  house  is  all  of  a  piece.  I  hardly  keep  count  of 
time." 

"There  is  one  thing  which  puzzles  me  very  much,"  said  Mary, 
still  lingering  near  her  grandmother's  couch,  the  baimy  evening 
air  caressing  her  as  she  leaned  against  the  embrasure  of  the 
wide  Tudor  window,  the  sun  drawing  nearer  to  the  edge  of  the 
hills,  an  orb  of  yellow  flame  soon  to  change  to  a  gigantic  disk 
of  lurid  fire.  "I  thought  from  the  old  man's  talk  that  he,  too, 
must  be  an  old  servant  in  our  family.  He  talked  of  Maulevrier 
Castle  and  said  that  I  reminded  him  of  a  picture  by  Lely,  a  por- 
trait of  a  Lady  Maulevrier." 

"  It  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  have  been  in  service  there, 
though  I  do  not  remember  to  have  heard  an5/thing  about  it," 
cxnswered  her  Ladyship,  carelessly.  "The  Steadmans  come 
from  our  part  of  the  country,  and  theirs  is  an  hereditary  service. 
Good-night,  Mary,  I  am  utterly  weary.  Look  at  that  glorious 
light  yonder,  that  mighty  world  of  fire  and  flame,  without  which 
our  little  world  would  be  dark  and  dreary.  I  often  think  of  that 
speech  of  Macbeth's,  '  I  'gin  to  be  aweary  of  the  sun.'  There 
comes  a  time,  Mary,  when  even  the  sun  is  a  burden." 

"Only  for  such  a  man  as  Macbeth,"  said  Mary,  "  a  man 
steeped  in  crime.  Who  can  wonder  that  he  wanted  to  hide  him- 
self from  the  sun  ?  But,  dear  grandmother,  there  ought  to  be 
plenty  of  happiness  left  for  you,  even  if  your  recovery  is  slow  to 
come.  You  are  so  clever,  you  have  such  resources,  in  your  own 
mind  and  memory,  and  you  have  your  grandchildren,  who  love 
you  dearly,"  added  Mary,  tenderly. 

Her  nature  was  so  full  of  pity  that  an  entirely  new  affection 
had  grown  up  in  her  mind  for  Lady  Maulevrier  since  that  terri- 
ble evening  of  the  paralytic  stroke. 

"Yes,  and  whose  love  as  exemplified  by  Lesbia  is  shown  in  a 
hurried  scrap  of  a  letter  scrawled  once  a  week — a  bone  thrown 
to  a  hungry  dog,"  said  her  Ladyship,  bitterly. 

"Lesbia  is  so  lovely,  and  she  is  so  surrounded  by  flatterers 
and  admirers,"  murmured  Mary,  excusingly. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  if  she  had  a  heart  she  would  not  forget  me, 
even  in  the  midst  of  her  flatterers.  Good-night  again,  Mary. 
Don't  try  to  console  me.     For  some  natures  consolations  and 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

soothing   suggestions  are  like  flowers  thrown   upon 

tomb.      They  do  just  as  much  and  just  as  little  good   to  the 

heart  that  lies  under  the  stone.     Good-night." 

Mary  stooped  to  kiss  her  grandmother's  forehead,  and  found 
it  cold  as  marble.  She  murmured  a  loving  good-night,  and  left 
the  mistress  of  Fellside  in  her  loneliness. 

A  footman  would  come  in  and  light  the  lamps,  and  draw  the 
velvet  curtains,  presently,  and  shut  out  the  later  glories  of  sunset. 
And  then  the  butler  himself  would  come  and  arrange  the  little 
dinner  table  by  her  Ladyship's  couch,  and  would  himself  preside 
over  the  invalid's  simple  dinner,  which  would  be  served  exquis- 
itely with  all  that  is  daintiest  and  most  costly  in  fairy-like  glass 
and  antique  silver.  Yet  better  the  dinner  of  herbs,  and  love 
and  peace  withal,  than  the  choicest  fare  or  the  most  perfect  ser- 
vice. 

Before  the  coming  of  the  servants  and  the  lamps  there  was  a 
pause  of  silence  and  loneliness,  an  interval  during  which  Lady 
Maulevrier  lay  gazing  at  the  declining  orb,  the  lower  rim  of 
which  now  rested  on  the  edge  of  the  hill.  It  seemed  to  grow 
larger  and   more  dazzling  as  she  looked  at  it. 

Suddenly  she  clasped  her  left  hand  across  her  eyes,  and  said 
aloud — 

"  Oh,  what  a  hateful  life  !  Almost  half  a  century  of  lies  and 
hypocrisies  and  prevarications  and  meannesses  for  what  t  For 
the  glory  of  an  empty  name,  and  for  a  fortune  that  may  slip  from 
my  dead  hand  to  become  the  prey  of  rogues  and  adventurers. 
Who  can  forecast  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CARTE  BLANCHE. 

Lady  Kirkbank's  house  in  Arlington  Street  was  known  to  half 
fashionable  London  as  one  of  the  pleasantest  houses  in  town ; 
and  it  was  known  by  repute  only  to  the  other  half  of  fashionable 
London  as  a  house  whose  threshold  was  not  to  be  crossed  by 
persons  with  any  regard  for  their  own  dignity  and  reputation. 
It  was  not  that  Lady  Kirkbank  had  ever  actually  forfeited  her 
right  to  be  considered  an  honest  v/oman  and  a  faithful  wife. 
People  who  talked  of  the  lady  and  her  set  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  dubious  elevation  of  the  eyebrows 
were  ready,  when  hard  pushed  in  argument,  to  admit  that  they 


204  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

knew  of  no  actual  harm  in  Lady  Kirkbank,  no  overt  bad  behav- 
ior. "  But — well,"  said  the  punctilious  half  of  society,  the  Pe- 
jinks  and  Pernickitys,  the  Picksomes  and  Unco-Goods,  "Lady 
Kirkbank  is — Lady  Kirkbank.  And  I  would  not  allow  my  girls 
to  visit  her,  don't  you  know  ?  "  "  Lady  Kirkbank  is  received, 
certainly,"  said  a  severe  dowager.  "  She  goes  to  very  good 
houses.  She  gets  tickets  for  the  Royal  inclosure.  She  is  always 
at  private  views  and  privileged  shows  of  all  kinds,  and  she  con- 
trives to  squeeze  herself  in  at  a  State  ball  or  a  concert,  about  once 
in  two  years  ;  but  any  one  who  can  consider  Lady  Kirkbank 
good  style  must  have  a  very  curious  idea  of  what  a  lady  ought 
to  be," 

About  Sir  George,  society,  adverse  or  friendly,  was  without 
strong  opinions.  His  friends,  the  men  who  shot  over  his  Scotch 
moor,  and  filled  the  cabins  of  his  steam  yacht,  and  loaded  his 
drag  for  Sandown  or  Epsom,  and  sponged  upon  him  more  or 
less  all  the  year  round,  talked  of  him  as  "  an  inoffensive  old  thing," 
"  a  cheery  soul,"  "a  genial  old  boy,"  and  in  like  terms  of  ap- 
proval. That  half  of  society  which  did  not  visit  in  Arlington 
Street,  for  which  the  semi-aristocratic,  semi-artistic,  altogether 
Bohemian  little  dinners,  the  suppers  after  the  play,  the  small 
hours  devoted  to  nap  or  poker,  had  an  odor  as  of  sulphur,  a  fla- 
vor of  Tophet,  even  this  half  of  the  great  world  was  fain  to  ad- 
mit that  Sir  George  was  harmless.  He  had  never  had  an  idea 
beyond  the  realms  of  sport ;  he  had  never  had  a  will  of  his  own 
outside  his  stable.  To  shoot  pigeons  at  Hurlingham  or  Monaco, 
to  keep  half  a  dozen  leather-platers,  and  attend  every  race  from 
the  Craven  to  the  Leger,  to  hunt  four  days  a  week  when  he  was 
allowed  to  spend  a  Winter  in  England,  and  to  saunter  and  sleep 
away  all  the  hours  which  could  not  be  given  to  sport,  comprised 
Sir  George's  idea  of  existence.  He  had  never  troubled  himself 
to  consider  whether  there  might  not  possibly  be  a  better  way  of 
getting  rid  of  one's  life.  He  was  as  God  had  made  him,  and 
was  perfectly  satisfied  with  himself  and  the  universe;  save  at 
such  times  as  when  a  favorite  horse  went  lame,  or  his  banker 
wrote  to  tell  him  that  his  account  was  overdrawn. 

He  had  no  children  ;  he  had  never  had  a  serious  care  in  his  life. 
He  never  thought,  he  never  read.  Lady  Kirkbank  declared 
that  she  had  never  seen  him  with  a  book  in  his  hand  since  their 
marriage. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would  know  at  which  end  to  begin,"  she 
said. 

What  was  the  specific  charge  which  the  very  particular  people 
brought  against  Lady  Kirkbank  ?     Such  charges  rarely  are  spe- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  205 

cific.  The  idea  that  the  lady  belonged  to  the  fast  and  furious 
section  of  society,  the  Bohemia  of  the  upper  ten,  was  an  idea  in 
the  air.  Everybody  knew  it ;  no  one  could  quite  adequately  ex- 
plain it. 

From  thirty  to  fifty  Lady  Kirkbank  had  been  known  as  a 
flirty  matron.  Wherever  she  went  a  train  of  men  went  with  her ; 
men  young  and  middle-aged  and  elderly ;  handsome  youths  from 
the  public  offices;  War,  Admiralty,  Foreign  Office,  Somerset- 
House  young  men  ;  attractive  men  of  mature  years,  with  gray  mus- 
tachios,  military,  diplomatic,  horsey,  what  you  will,  but  always 
agreeable.  At  home,  abroad,  Lady  Kirkbank  was  never  with- 
out her  court ;  but  the  court  was  entirely  masculine.  In  those  days 
the  fair  Georgie  did  not  scruple  to  say  that  she  hated  women,  and 
that  girls  were  her  particular  abomination.  But  as  the  years  rolled 
on  Lady  Kirkbank  found  it  very  difficult  to  muster  her  little 
court,  to  keep  her  train  in  attendance  upon  her.  Her  young 
adorers  found  their  official  duties  more  oppressive  than  hitherto  ; 
her  elderly  swains  had  threatenings  of  gout  or  rheumatism  which 
prevented  their  flocking  round  her  as  of  old  at  race  meeting  or 
polo  match.  They  were  loyal  enough  in  keeping  their  engage- 
ments at  the  dinner  table,  for  Lady  Kirkbank's  cook  wasDne  of 
the  best  in  London  ;  and  the  invited  guests  were  rarely  missing 
at  the  little  suppers  after  opera  or  play  ;  but  Georgie's  box  was 
no  longer  crowded  with  men  who  dropped  in  between  the  acts  to 
see  what  she  thought  of  the  singer  or  the  piece,  and  her  swains 
were  no  longer  contented  to  sit  behind  her  chair  all  the  evening 
seeing  an  empty  corner  of  the  stage  across  Georgie's  ivory  shoul- 
der, and  hearing  the  voices  of  invisible  actors  in  the  brief 
pauses  of  Georgie's  subdued  babble. 

At  fifty-five  Georgina  Kirkbank  told  herself  sadly  enough 
that  her  day  as  a  bright  particular  star,  all  sufficient  in  her  own 
radiance,  was  gone.  She  could  not  live  without  her  mascu- 
line circle,  men  who  could  bring  her  all  the  news,  the  gossip  of 
the  clubs  ;  where  everything  seemed  to  become  known  as 
quickly  as  if  each  club  had  its  own  Asmodeus,  unroofing  all  the 
house-tops  of  the  West  End  for  inspection  every  night.  She 
could  not  live  without  her  courtiers  ;  and  to  keep  them  about 
her  she  knew  that  she  must  make  her  house  pleasant.  It  was 
not  enough  to  give  good  dinners — elegant  little  suppers,  washed 
down  by  choicest  wines  ;  she  must  also  provide  fair  faces  to  smile 
upon  the  feast  and  bright  eyes  to  sparkle  in  the  subdued  light  of 
low-shaded  lamps  and  many  candles  winking  under  colored 
shades. 

"I  am  an  old  woman  now,"  Lady  Kirkbank  said  to  herself, 


2o6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

with  a  sigh,  "  and  my  own  attractions  won't  keep  my  friends 
about  me.     C'est  trop  connu  ca." 

And  now  the  house  in  Arlington  Street,  in  which  feminine 
guests  had  been  as  one  in  ten,  opened  its  doors  to  the  young 
and  the  fair.  Pretty  widows,  lively  girls,  young  wives  who  were 
not  too  absurdly  devoted  to  their  husbands,  actresses  of  high 
standing  and  good  looks,  these  began  to  be  welcomed  effusively 
in  Arlington  Street.  Lady  Kirkbank  began  to  hunt  for  beauties 
to  adorn  her  rooms,  as  she  had  hitherto  hunted  lions  to  roar  at 
her  parties.  She  prided  herself  on  being  the  first  to  discover 
this  or  that  new  beauty.  That  lovely  girl  from  Scotland  with 
the  large  eyes — that  sweet  young  creature  from  Ireland  with  the 
long  eyelashes.  She  was  always  inventing  new  divinities.  But 
even  this  change  of  plan,  this  more  feminine  line  of  politics, 
failed  to  reconcile  the  strict  and  the  stern,  the  Queen  Charlotte- 
ish  elderly  ladies  and  the  impeccable  matrons  to  Lady  Kirkbank 
and  her  set.  The  girls  who  were  launched  by  Lady  Kirkbank 
never  took  high  rank  in  society.  When  they  made  good  mar- 
riages it  was  generally  to  be  observed  that  they  dropped  Lady 
Kirkbank,  soon  afterward.  It  was  not  their  fault,  they  pleaded 
piteously,  but  Edward,  or  Henry,  or  Theodore,  as  the  case 
might  be,  had  a  most  cruel  prejudice  against  dear  Lady  Kirk- 
bank, and  they  were  obliged  to  obe}^ 

Others  there  were,  however,  the  loyal  few,  who,  having  won 
the  prize  matrimonial  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  happy  hunting-grounds 
remained  true  to  their  friend  ever  afterward,  and  defended  her 
character  against  every  onslaught. 

When  Lady  Maulevrier  told  her  grandson  that  she  had  in- 
trusted Lady  Kirkbank  with  the  duty  of  introducing  Lesbia  to 
society,  Maulevrier  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  held  his  peace. 
He  knew  no  actual  harm  in  the  matter.  Lady  Kirkbank's  was 
rather  a  fast  set  ;  and  had  he  been  allowed  to  choose  it  was  not 
to  Lady  Kirkbank  that  he  would  have  delegated  his  grand- 
mother's duty.  In  Maulevrier's  own  phrase  it  was  "  not  good 
enough  "  for  Lesbia.  But  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  interfere.  He 
was  not  told  of  the  plan  until  everything  had  been  settled. 
The  thing  was  accomplished ;  and  against  accomplished  facts 
Maulevrier  was  the  last  to  protest. 

His  friend  John  Hammond  had  not  been  silent.  He  knew 
nothing  of  Lady  Kirkbank  personally  ;  but  he  knew  the  posi- 
tion which  she  held  in  London  societ}^,  and  he  urged  his  friend 
strongly  to  enlighten  Lady  Maulevrier  as  to  the  kind  of  circle 
into  which  she  was  about  to  intrust  her  young  granddaughter,  a 
girl  brought  up  in  the  Arcadia  of  England. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  C07 

"  Not  for  worlds  would  I  undertake  such  a  task,"  said  Maule- 
vrier.  "  Her  Ladyship  never  had  any  such  opinion  of  my 
wisdom,  and  this  Lady  Kirkbank  is  a  friend  of  her  own  youth. 
She  would  cut  up  rough  if  I  were  to  say  a  word  against  her.  Be- 
sides, what's  the  odds,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it  1  ^  All  society 
is  fast  nowadays,  or  at  any  rate  all  society  worth  living  in.  And 
then  again  Lesbia  is  just  one  of  those  cool-headed  girls  who 
would  keep  herself  head  uppermost  in  a  maelstrom.  She  knows 
on  which  side  her  bread  is  buttered.  Look  how  easily  she 
chucked  you  up  because  she  did  not  think  you  good  enough. 
She'll  make  use  of  this  Lady  Kirkbank,  who  is  a  good  soul,  I  am 
told,  and  will  make  the  best  match  of  the  season." 

And  now  the  season  had  begun,  and  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden 
was  circulating  with  other  aristocratic  atoms  in  the  social  vortex, 
with  her  head  apparently  uppermost. 

"  Old  Lady  K.  has  nobbled  a  real  beauty  this  time,"  said  one 
of  the  Arlington  Street  set  to  his  friends  as  they  lolled  on  the 
railings  in  the  Park,  "  a  long  way  above  any  one  of  those  plain- 
headed  ones  she  tried  to  palm  off  upon  us  last  year--the  South 
American  girl  with  the  big  eyes  and  a  complexion  like  a  toad, 
the  Forfarshire  girl  with  freckles  and  unsophisticated  carrots. 
*  Those  lovely  Spanish  eyes,'  said  Lady  K.,  '  that  Titianesque 
auburn  hair,'  but  it  didn't  answer.  Both  the  girls  were  plain, 
and  they  have  gone  back  to  their  native  obscurity  spinsters  still. 
But  this  is  a  real  thoroughbred  one,  blood,  form,  pace,  all  there." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  drawled  his  friend. 

"Lord  Maulevrier's  sister.  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden.  Has 
money  too,  I  believe ,  rich  grandmother ;  old  lady  buried  alive 
in  Westmoreland ;  horrid  old  miser." 

'•'  I  shouldn't  mind  marrying  a  miser's  granddaughter,"  said 
the  other.  "  So  nice  to  know  that  some  wretched  old  idiot  has 
scraped  and  hoarded  through  a  lifetime  of  deprivation  and  self- 
denial,  in  order  that  one  may  spend  his  money  when  he  is  under 
the  sod." 

Lady  Lesbia  was  accepted  everywhere,  or  almost  everywhere, 
as  the  beauty  of  the  season.  There  were  six  or  seven  other 
girls  who  aspired  to  the  same  proud  position,  who  were  asserted 
by  their  own  particular  friends  to  have  won  it ;  just  as  there  are 
generally  four  or  five  horses  which  claim  to  be  first  favorites  • 
but  the  betting  was  all  in  favor  of  Lady  Lesbia. 

Lady  Kirkbank  told  her  that  she  was  turning  every  one's  head, 
and  Lesbia  was  quite  willing  to  believe  her.  But  was  Lesbia's 
own  head  quite  steady  in  this  whirlpool  ?  That  was  a  question 
which  she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  ask  herself. 


3o8  FHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Her  heart  was  tranquil  enough,  cold  as  marble.  No  shield 
and  safeguard  so  secure  against  the  fire  of  new  love  as  an  old 
love  hardly  cold.  Lesbia  told  herself  that  her  heart  was  a  sepul- 
cher,  an  urn  which  held  a  handful  of  ashes,  the  ashes  of  her 
passion  for  John  Hammond,  it  was  afire  quite  burned  out,  she 
thought ;  but  that  extinguished  flame  had  left  death-like  cold- 
ness. 

This  was  Lesbia's  own  diagnosis  of  her  case ;  but  the  real 
truth  was  that  among  the  herd  of  men  that  she  had  met,  almost 
all  of  them  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship  her,  there  was  not 
one  who  caugnt  her  fancy.  Her  nature  was  shallow  enough  to 
be  passing  fickle  ;  the  passion  which  she  had  taken  for  love  was 
little  more  than  a  girl's  fancy ;  but  the  man  who  had  power  to 
awaken  that  fancy  as  John  Hammond  had  done  had  not  yet 
appeared  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  circle. 

"  What  a  cold-hearted  creature  you  must  be,"  said  Georgie. 
*  You  don't  seem  to  admire  any  of  my  favorite  men." 

"They  are  very  nice,"'  Lesbia  answered  languidly;  "but  they 
are  all  alike.  They  say  the  same  things — wear  the  same  clothes 
— sit  in  the  same  attitude.  One  would  think  they  were  all 
drilled  in  a  body  every  morning  before  they  go  out.  Mr.  Night- 
shade, the  actor,  who  came  to  supper  the  other  night,  is  the  only 
man  I  have  seen  who  has  a  spark  of  originality." 

"You  are  right,"  answered  Lady  Kirkbank,  "there  is  an  ap- 
palling sameness  in  men ;  only  it  is  odd  you  should  find  it  out 
so  soon.  I  never  discovered  it  till  I  was  an  old  woman.  How 
I  env\  Cleopatra  her  Caesar  and  her  Antony.  No  mistaking 
one  of  tho-e  for  the  other.  Mary  Stuart,  too,  what  marked 
varieties  of  character  in  Rizzio  and  Chastelard,  Darnley  and 
Bothwell,     Ah,  child,  that  is  what  it  is  to  live." 

"  Mary  is  very  interesting,"  sighed  Lesbia  ;  "  but  I  fear  she 
was  not  a  correct  person." 

"  My  love,  what  correct  person  is  ever  interesting  ?  And  his- 
tory draws  a  misty  halo  round  a  sinner  of  that  kind,  till  one  al- 
most believes  her  a  saint.  1  think  Mary  Stuart,  Froude's  Mary, 
simply  perfect." 

Lesbia  had  begun  by  blushing  at  Lady  Kirkbank's  opinions ; 
but  she  was  now  used^to  the  audacity  of  the  lady's  sentiments, 
and  the  almost  infantile  candor  with  which  she  gave  utterance 
to  them.  Lady  Kirkbank  liked  to  make  her  friends  laugh.  It 
was  all  she  could  do  now  in  order  to  be  admired.  And  there  is 
nothing  like  audacity  for  making  people  laugh  nowadays.  Lady 
Kirkbank  was  a  close  student  of  all  those  delightful  books  of 
French  memoirs  which  bring  the  tittle  tattle  of  the  Regency  and 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


209 


the  scandals  or  Louis  the  Fifteenth's  reign  so  vividly  before  us, 
and  she  had  unconsciously  founded  her  manners  and  her  ways  of 
thinking  and  talking  upon  that  easy-going  but  elegant  age.  She 
did  not  want  to  seem  better  than  women  who  had  been  so  alto- 
gether charming.  She  fortified  the  frivolity  of  historical  Parisian 
manners  by  a  dash  of  the  British  sporting  character.  She  drove, 
shot,  jumped  over  five-barred  gates,  contrived  on  the  verge  of 
seventy  to  be  as  active  as  a  young  woman,  and  she  flattered  her- 
self that  the  mixture  of  wit,  audacity,  sport,  and  good  nature 
was  full  of  fascination. 

However  this  might  be,  it  is  certain  that  a  good  many  people 
liked  her,  chiefly,  perhaps,  because  she  was  good-natured,  and 
a  little  on  account  of  that  admirable  cook. 

To  Lesbia,  who  had  been  weary  to  loathing  of  her  old  life 
amidst  the  hills  and  waterfalls  of  Westmoreland,  this  new  life 
was  one  perpetual  round  of  pleasure.  She  flung  herself  with 
all  her  heart  and  mind  into  the  amusement  of  the  moment ; 
she  knew  neither  weariness  nor  satiety.  To  ride  in  the  Park  in 
the  morning,  to  go  to  a  luncheon  party,  a  garden  party,  to  rush 
home  and  dress  for  the  fourth  or  fifth  time,  and  then  off  to  dm- 
ner,  and  from  dinner  to  drum,  and  from  drum  to  big  ball,  at 
which  rumor  said  the  Prince  and  the  Princess  were  to  be  present ; 
and  so,  from  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  four  or  five 
o'clock  next  morning,  the  giddy  whirl  went  on ;  and  every  hour 
was  so  occupied  by  pleasure  engagements  that  it  was  difficult  to 
squeeze  in  an  occasional  morning  for  shopping — necessary  to 
go  to  the  shops  sometimes,  or  one  would  not  know  how  many 
things  one  really  wants — or  for  an  indispensable  interview  with 
the  dressmaker. 

Those  mornings  at  the  shops  were  hardly  the  least  agreeable 
of  Lesbia's  hours.  To  a  girl  brought  up  in  one  perpetual  tete- 
a-tete  with  green  hill-sides  and  silvery  watercourses,  the  West 
End  shops  were  as  gardens  of  Eden,  as  Aladdin  caves,  as  any- 
thing, everything  that  is  rapturous  and  intoxicating.  Lesbia, 
the  clear-headed,  the  cold-hearted,  fairly  lost  her  senses  when 
she  went  into  one  of  those  exquisite  shops,  where  a  confusion 
of  brocades  and  satins  lay  about  in  masses  of  richest  color,  with 
here  and  there  a  bunch  of  lilies,  a  cluster  of  roses,  a  tortoise- 
shell  fan,  an  ostrich  feather,  or  a  flounce  of  peerless  Point 
d'Alen9on  flung  carelessly  athwart  the  sheen  of  a  wine-dark 
velvet  or  golden-hued  satin. 

Lady  Maulevrier  had  said  Lesbia  was  to  have  carte  blanche  ; 
so  Lesbia  bought  everything  she  wanted,  or  fancied  she  wanted, 
or  that    the   shop  people  thought  she  must  want,  or  that  Lady 


210  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Kirkbank  happened  to  admire.  The  shop  people  were  so  oblig- 
ing, and  so  deeply  obliged  by  Lesbia's  patronage.  She  was 
exactly  the  kind  of  customer  they  liked  to  serve.  She  flitted 
about  their  show-rooms  like  a  beautiful  butterfly  hovering  over 
a  flower-bed — her  eye  caught  by  every  novelty.  She  never 
asked  the  price  of  anything,  and  Lady  Kirkbank  informed  them, 
in  confidence,  that  she  was  a  great  heiress,  with  a  millionaire 
grandmother  who  indulged  her  every  whim.  Other  high-born 
young  ladies,  shopping  upon  fixed  allowances,  and  sorely  per- 
plexed to  make  both  ends  meet,  looked  with  eyes  of  envy  upon 
this  girl. 

And  then  came  the  visit  to  the  dressmaker.  It  happened, 
after  all,  that  Kate  Kearney  was  not  intrusted  with  Lady  Les- 
bia's frocks.  Miss  Kearney  was  the  fashion,  and  could  pick 
and  choose  her  customers,  and,  as  she  was  a  young  lady  of  good 
business  aptitudes  she  had  a  liking  for  ready  money,  or  at  least 
half-yearly  settlements  ;  and,  finding  that  Lady  Kirkbank  was 
much  more  willing  to  give  new  orders  than  to  pay  old  accounts, 
she  had  respectfully  informed  her  Ladyship  that  a  pressure  or 
business  would  prevent  her  executing  any  further  commands 
from  Arlington  Street,  while  the  necessity  of  posting  her  ledger 
obliged  her  to  request  the  favor  of  an  immediate  check. 

This  little  skirmish — per  letter — occurred  while  Lady  Kirk- 
bank was  at  Cannes,  and  Miss  Kearney's  conduct  was  stigma- 
tized as  insolent  and  ungrateful,  since  had  not  she,  Lady  Kirk- 
bank, by  the  mere  fact  of  her  patronage,  given  this  young  per- 
son her  chief  claim  to  fashion. 

"  I  shall  drop  her,"  said  Georgie,  "  and  go  back  to  poor  old 
Seraphine,  who  is  worth  a  cart-load  of  such  Irish  adventuresses." 

So  to  Madame  Seraphine,  of  Clanricarde  Place,  Lady  Lesbia 
was  taken  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter-house. 

Seraphine  had  made  Lady  Kirkbank's  clothes,  off  and  on,  for 
the  last  thirty  years.  Seraphine  and  Georgie  had  grown  old  to- 
gether. Lady  Kirkbank  was  always  dropping  Seraphine  and 
taking  her  up  again,  quarreling  and  making  friends  with  her. 
They  wrote  each  other  little  notes,  in  which  Lady  Kirkbank 
called  the  dressmaker  her  cher  ange — her  bonne  chatte,  her 
chere  vielle  folle — and  all  manner  of  affectionate  names — and 
in  which  Seraphine  occasionally  threatened  the  Lady  with  the 
dire  engines  of  the  law,  if  money  were  not  forthcoming  before 
Saturday  evening. 

Lady  Kirkbank  within  those  thirty  years  had  paid  Seraphine 
several  thousands,  but  she  had  never  once  got  herself  out  of  the 
dear  creature's  debt.     All  her  payments  were  payments  on  ac 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  2i  i 

count.  A  hundred  pounds,  or  fifty, — or  an  occasional  check 
for  two  hundred  and  fifty,  when  Sir  George  had  been  lucky  at 
Newmarket  and  Doncaster.  But  the  rolling  nucleus  of  debt 
v/ent  rolling  on,  growing  bigger  every  year,  until  the  payments 
on  account  needed  to  be  larger  or  more  numerous  than  of  old 
to  keep  Seraphine  in  good  humor. 

Seraphine  was  a  woman  of  genius  and  versatility,  and  had 
more  than  one  art  at  her  fingers'  ends — those  skinny  and  claw- 
shaped  fingers,  the  nails  whereof  were  not  always  clean.  She 
took  charge  of  her  customer's  figures,  and  made  their  corsets, 
and  lectured  them  if  they  allowed  nature  to  get  the  upper  hand. 

"  If  madam's  waist  gets  one  quarter  of  an  inch  thicker  I  must 
refuse  to  make  her  gowns,"  she  would  tell  a  ponderous  matron, 
with  cool  insolence,  and  the  matron  would  stand  abashed  before 
the  little,  sallow,  hook-nosed,  keen-eyed  Jewess,  like  a  child  be- 
fore a  severe  mother. 

*'  Oh,  Seraphine,  do  you  really  think  that  I  am  stouter  ?  "  the 
customer  would  ask  feebly,  panting  in  her  tightened  corset, 

"  Is  it  that  1  think  so  t  Why,  that  jumps  to  the  eyes. 
Madam  had  always  that  little  air  of  Rubens,  even  in  the  fine 
flower  of  her  youth — but  now — it  is  a  Rubens  of  the  Faubourg 
du  Temple." 

And  horrified  at  the  idea  of  her  vulgarized  charms  the  meek 
matron  would  consent  to  encase  herself  in  one  of  Seraphine's 
severest  corsets,  called  in  bitterest  mockery  a  la  sante — at  five 
guineas — in  order  that  the  dressmaker  might  measure  her  for  a 
forty-guinea  gown. 

"  A  plain  satin  gown,  my  dear,  with  an  eighteenpenny  frilling 
round  the  neck  and  sleeves,  and  not  so  much  trimming  as  would 
go  round  my  little  finger.  It  is  a  positive  robbery,"  the  matron 
told  her  friends  afterward,  not  the  less  proud  of  her  skin-tight 
high-shouldered  sleeves,  and  the  peerless  flow  of  her  train. 

Seraphine  was  an  artist  in  complexions,  and  it  was  she  who 
provided  her  middle-aged  and  elderly  customers  with  the  lilies 
and  roses  of  youth.  Lady  Kirkbank's  town  complexion  was 
superintended  by  Seraphine,  sometimes  even  manipulated  by 
those  harpy-like  claws.  The  eyebrows  of  which  Lesbia  com- 
plained were  only  eyebrows  de  Province — eyebrows  de  voyage. 
In  London  Georgie  was  much  more  particular ;  and  Seraphine 
was  often  in  Arlington  Street  with  her  little  morocco  bag  of 
washes  and  creams,  and  brushes  and  sponges,  to  prepare  Lady 
Kirkbank  for  some  party,  and  to  instruct  Lady  Kirkbank's  maid. 
At  such  times  Georgie  was  all  affection  for  the  little  dressmaker. 

"  Ma  chatte,  you  have  made  me  positively  adorable,"  she 


2 1 2  PIIA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

would  say,  peering  at  her  reflection  in  the  ivory  hand  mirror,  a 
dazzling  image  of  rouge  and  bismuth,  carmined  lips,  diamonds, 
and  frizzy  yellow  hair;  "  I  verily  believe  I  look  under  thirty — 
but  do  not  you  think  this  gown  is  cut  a  thought  too  low — un  peu 
trop  de  peau  hein  ? " 

"  Not  for  you,  Lady  Kirkbank,  with  your  fine  shoulders. 
Shoulders  are  of  no  age — les  epaules  sont  la  vraie  fontaine  de 
jouvence  pour  les  femmes." 

"  You  are  such  a  witty  creature,  Seraphine  Fifine.  You  ought 
to  be  a  descendant  of  that  wicked  old  Voltaire.  Rilboche,  give 
madam  some  more  chartreuse." 

And  Lady  Kirkbank  and  the  dressmaker  would  chink  their 
liqueur  glasses  in  friendship  before  the  lady  gathered  up  her 
satin  train  and  allowed  her  peerless  shoulders  to  be  muffled  in 
a  plush  mantle  to  go  down  to  her  carriage,  fortified  by  that  last 
glass  of  green  chartreuse. 

There  was  always  the  finest  chartreuse  and  curacoa  in  an  eb- 
ony and  ormolu  liqueur  cabinet  on  Lady  Kirkbank's  dressing- 
table.  The  cabinet  formed  a  companion  to  the  dressing-case 
which  contained  all  those  creamy  and  rose-hued  mixtures,  pow- 
ders, brushes  and  medicaments,  which  were  necessary  for  the 
manufacture  of  Georgie's  complexion.  The  third  bottle  in  the 
liqueur  case  held  cognac,  and  this,  as  Rilboche  the  maid  knew, 
was  oftenest  replenished.  Yet  nobody  could  accuse  Lady  Kirk- 
bank of  intemperate  habits.  The  liqueur  box  only  supplied  the 
peg  that  was  occasionally  wanted  to  screw  the  superior  mind  to 
concert  pitch. 

**  One  must  always  be  at  concert  pitch  in  society,  don't  you 
know,  my  dear,"  said  Georgie  to  her  young  protegee. 

Thus  it  happened  that,  Miss  Kearney  having  behaved  badly, 
Lesbia  was  carried  off  to  dear  Oid  Seraphine,  and  delivered 
over  to  that  modern  witch,  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  horns  of  the 
altar. 

Clanricarde  Place  is  a  little  nook  of  Queen  Anne  houses — 
genuine  Queen  Anne,  be  it  understood — between  Piccadilly  and 
St.  James's  Palace,  and  hardly  five  minutes'  walk  from  Arlington 
Street.  It  is  a  quiet  little  cul  de  sac  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
fashionable  world ;  and  here  of  an  afternoon  might  be  seen  the 
carriages  of  Madam  Seraphine's  customers  blocking  the  whole 
of  the  carriage  way,  and  choking  up  the  narrow  entrance  to  the 
street,  which  widened  considerably  at  the  mner  end. 

Madam  Seraphine's  house  was  at  the  end,  a  narrow  house, 
with  tall,  old-fashioned  windows,  curtained  with  amber  satin.  It 
was  a  small,  dark  house,  but  the  staircase  was  a  gem  in  old  oak, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  213 

and  the  furniture  in  the  triple  telescopic  drawing-room,  dwind- 
ling to  a  closet  at  the  end,  was  genuine  Louis  Seize. 

Seraphine  herself  was  the  only  shabby  thing  in  the  house — a 
wizened  little  woman,  with  a  wicked  old  Jewish  face,  and  one 
shoulder  higher  than  the  other,  dressed  in  a  shiny  black  moire 
gown,  years  after  moires  had  been  exploded,  and  with  a  rag  of 
old  lace  upon  her  sleek  black  hair,  raven  black  hair,  and  the 
only  good  thing  about  her  appearance. 

One  ornament,  and  one  only,  had  Seraphine  ever  been  guilty 
of  wearing,  and  that  was  an  old-fashioned  half-hoop  ring  of 
Brazilian  diamonds,  brilliants  of  the  first  water.  This  ring  she 
called  her  yard-measure ;  and  she  was  in  the  habit  of  using  it 
as  her  standard  of  purity,  and  comparing  it  with  any  diamonds 
which  her  customers  submitted  to  her  inspection.  For  the 
clever  little  dressmaker  had  a  feeling  heart  for  a  lady  in  difficul- 
ties, and  was  in  the  habit  of  lending  money  on  security,  and  on 
terms  that  were  almost  reasonable,  as  compared  with  the  usuri- 
ous rates  one  reads  of  in  the  newspapers 

Lesbia's  first  sensation  upon  having  this  accomplished  person 
presented  to  her  was  one  of  shrinking  and  disgust.  There  was 
something  sinister  in  the  sallow  face,  the  small  shrewd  eyes, 
and  long  hooked  nose,  the  crooked  figure,  and  claw-shaped 
hands.  But  when  Madam  Seraphine  began  to  talk  about  gowns, 
and  bade  her  acolytes — smartly  dressed  young  women  with 
pleasing  countenances — unroll  marvels  of  brocade  and  satin, 
embroideries,  stamped  velvets,  bullion  fringes,  and  ostrich 
'feather  flouncings,  Lesbia  became  interested,  and  forgot  the 
unholy  aspect  of  the  high  priestess. 

Lady  Kirkbank  and  the  dressmaker  discussed  Lesbia's  charms 
?is  calmly  as  if  she  had  been  out  of  the  room. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  figure  ?  "  asked  Lady  Kirkbank. 

"One  cannot  criticise  what  does  not  exist,"  replied  the  dress- 
maker, in  French.  "  The  young  lady  has  no  figure.  She  has 
evidently  been  brought  up  in  the  country." 

And  then  with  rapid  bird-like  movements  and  with  her  head 
on  one  side,  Seraphine  measured  Lesbia's  waist  and  bust,  mut- 
tering little  argetic  expressions  sotto  voce  as  she  did  so. 

"  Waist  three  inches  too  large,  shoulders  six  inches  too  nar- 
row," she  said  decisively,  and  she  dictated  some  figures  to  some 
one  of  the  damsels,  who  wrote  them  down  in  an  order-book. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  asked  Lesbia,  not  at  all  approving 
of  such  cavalier  treatment. 

"Only  that  Seraphine  will  make  your  corsets  the  light  size," 
answered  Lady  Kirkbank. 


214  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  What !  Three  inches  too  small  for  my  waist,  and  six  too 
wide  for  my  shoulders  ? " 

"  My  love,  you  must  have  a  figure,"  replied  Lady  Kirkbank 
conclusively.  "  It  is  not  what  you  are,  but  what  you  ought  to 
be  that  has  to  be  considered." 

So  Lesbia,  the  cool-headed,  who  was  also  weak-minded,  con- 
sented to  have  her  figure  adjusted  to  the  regulation  mark  of  ab- 
solute beauty  as  understood  by  Madam  Seraphine.  It  was  only 
when  her  complexion  came  under  discussion,  and  Seraphine 
ventured  to  suggest  that  she  would  be  all  the  better  for  a  little 
accentuation  of  her  eyebrows  and  darkening  of  her  lashes,  that 
Lesbia  made  a  stand. 

"What  would  my  grandmother  think  of  me  if  she  heard  I 
painted  ?  "  she  asked  indignantly. 

Lady  Kirkbank  laughed  at  her  naivete. 

"  My  dear  child,  your  grandmother  is  just  half  a  century  be- 
hind the  age,"  she  said.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  allow 
your  life  in  London  to  be  regulated  by  an  oracle  at  Grasmere? " 

''  I  am  not  going  to  paint  my  face,"  replied  Lesbia,  firmly. 

"Well;  perhaps  you  are  right.  The  eyebrows  are  a  little 
weak  and  undecided,  Seraphme,  as  you  say,  and  the  lashes  would 
be  ail  the  better  for  your  famous  cosmetic  ;  but,  after  all,  there 
is  a  charm  in  what  the  painters  call  '  sincerity,'  and  any  little 
errors  of  detail  will  prove  the  genuineness  of  Lady  Lesbia's 
beauty.     One  may  be  too  artistic." 

And  Lady  Kirkbank  gave  a  complacent  glance  at  her  own 
image  in  one  of  the  Marie  Antoinette  mirrors,  pleased  with  the 
general  effect  of  arched  brows,  darkened  eyelids  and  a  daisy 
bonnet.  The  fair  Georgie  affected  field-flowers  and  simplicities 
which  would  have  been  charming  in  a  beauty  of  eighteen. 

"One  is  obliged  to  smother  one's  self  in  satin  and  velvet  for 
balls  and  dinners,''  said  Lady  Kirkbank  when  she  discussed  the 
great  question  of  gowns,  "  but  I  know  I  always  look  my  best  in 
my  cotton  frock  and  straw  hat." 

The  first  visit  to  Seraphine's  den — den  as  terrible,  did  one 
but  know  it,  as  that  antediluvian  hyena  cave  at  Torquay,  where 
the  threshold  is  worn  by  bodies  of  beasts  dragged  across  it,  and 
the  ground  paved  with  their  bones — that  first  visit  was  a  serious 
business.  Later  interviews  might  be  mere  frivolities,  half  an 
hour  wasted  in  looking  at  new  fashions,  an  order  given  care- 
lessly on  the  spur  of  the  moment ;  but  on  this  occasion  Lady 
Kirkbank  had  to  arm  her  young  protegee  for  the  coming  cam- 
paign, and  the  question  was  to  the  last  degree  serious. 

The  chaperon  and  the  dressmaker  put  their  heads  together. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  215 

looked  at  fashion  plates,  talked  solemnly  of  Worth  and  his  com- 
peers, of  the  gowns  that  were  being  worn  by  Bernhardt  and 
Pierson  and  Croisette  and  other  stars  of  the  Parisian  stage ;  and 
then  Lady  Kirkbank  gave  her  orders,  Lesbia  listening  and  as- 
sentmg. 

Nothing  was  said  about  prices,  but  Lesbia  had  a  vague  idea 
that  some  of  the  things  would  be  rather  expensive,  and  she  ven- 
tured to  ask  Lady  Kirkbank  if  she  were  not  ordering  too  many 
go\vns. 

*'  My  dear,  Lady  Maulevrier  said  you  were  to  have  carte 
blanche,"  replied  Georgie,  solemnly.  "  Your  dear  grandmother 
is  as  rich  as  Croesus,  and  she  Is  generosity  itself  ;  and  how  should 
I  ever  forgive  myself  if  I  allowed  you  to  appear  in  society  in  in- 
adequate style  ?  You  have  to  take  the  very  highest  place,  Les- 
bia, and  you  must  be  dressed  in  accordance  with  that  position." 

Lesbia  said  no  more.  After  all,  it  was  Lady  Kirkbank's  busi- 
ness, and  not  hers.  She  had  been  intrusted  to  Lady  Kirkbank 
as  to  a  person  who  thoroughly  knew  the  great  world,  and  she 
must  submit  to  be  governed  by  the  wisdom  and  experience  of 
her  chaperon.  If  the  bills  were  heavy,  that  would  be  Lady 
Kirkbank's  affair ;  and  no  doubt  dear  grandmamma  was  rich 
enough  to  afford  anything  Lesbia  wanted.  She  had  been  told 
that  she  was  to  take  rank  among  heiresses. 

Lady  Maulevrier  had  given  her  granddaughter  some  old-fash- 
ioned ornaments,  topaz,  amethysts,  turquoise — jewels  that  had 
belonged  to  dead  and  gone  Talmashes  and  Angersthorpes — to 
be  reset.  This  entailed  a  visit  to  a  Bond  Street  jeweler,  and  on 
the  dazzling  glass  cases  on  the  counter  of  the  Bond  Sfreet  estab- 
lishment Lesbia  saw  a  good  many  things  which  she  felt  were 
real  necessities  to  her  new  phrase  of  existence,  and  these,  with 
Lady  Kirkbank's  approval,  she  ordered.  They  were  not  impor- 
tant matters.  Half  a  dozen  Indian  gold  bangles  of  real  Oriental 
workmanship,  three  or  four  jeweled  arrows  to  pin  on  her  laces 
and  flowers,  a  diamond  clasp  for  her  pearl  necklace,  a  dear 
little  gold  hunter  to  wear  when  she  rode  in  the  Park,  a  diamond 
butterfly  to  light  up  that  old-fashioned  amethyst  parure  which 
the  jeweler  was  to  reset  with  an  artistic  admixture  of  brilliants. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  not  like  the  effect  without  diamonds," 
said  the  jeweler.  "  Your  amethysts  are  very  fine,  but  they  are 
dark  and  heavy  in  tone,  and  want  a  good  deal  of  lighting  up, 
especially  for  the  present  fashion  of  half-lighted  rooms.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  use  my  own  discretion  and  mix  in  a  few  brill- 
iants, I  shall  be  able  to  produce  a  really  artistic  parure;  other- 
wise 1  would  not  recommend  you  to  touch  them ;  the  present 


2i6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

setting  is  clumsy  and  inelegant,  but  I  really  Ao  not  know  that 
I  could  improve  upon  it  without  an  admixture  of  brilliants." 

"Will  the  diamonds  add  very  much  to  the  expense?  "  Lesbia 
inquired,  tunidiy. 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  perfectly  safe  in  leaving  the  matter 
in  Mr.  Cabochon's  hands,"  interposed  Lady  Kirkbank.  who  had 
particular  reasons  for  wishing  to  be  on  good  terms  with  the 
head  of  the  establishment.  "  Your  dear  grandmother  gave  you 
the  amethysts  to  be  reset,  and  of  course  she  would  wish  it  to  be 
done  in  an  artistic  manner.  Otherwise,  as  Mr.  Cabochon  judi- 
ciously says,  why  have  the  stones  reset  at  all .''  Better  wear  them 
in  all  their  present  hideousness." 

Of  course,  after  this,  Lesbia  consented  Xo  the  amethysts  being 
dealt  with  according  to  Mr.  Cabochon's  taste. 

"  Which  is  simply  perfect,"  interjected  Lady  Kirkbank. 

And  now  Lesbia's  campaign  began  in  real  earnest — a  life  of 
pleasure;  a  life  of  utter  selfishness  and  self-indulgence  which 
would  go  far  to  pervert  the  strongest  mind,  to  tarnish  the  pur- 
est nature.  To  dress  and  be  admired,  that  was  what  Lesbia's 
life  meant  from  morning  till  night.  She  had  no  higher  or  no- 
bler aim.  Even  on  Sunday  mornings  at  the  fashionable  church, 
where  the  women  sat  at  one  side  of  the  nave  and  the  men  on 
the  other,  where  dlvinest  music  was  as  a  pair  of  wings  on  which 
the  enraptured  soul  flew  heavenward — even  here  Lesbia  thought 
more  of  her  bonnet  and  her  gloves — the  chic  or  non-chic  of  her 
whole  costume,  than  of  the  service.  She  might  kneel  gracefully, 
with  her  bent  head,  just  revealing  the  ivory  whiteness  of  a  lovely 
throat,  between  the  edge  of  her  lace  frilling  and  the  flowers  in 
her  bonnet.  She  might  look  the  fairest  image  of  devotion  ;  but 
how  could  a  woman  pray  whose  heart  was  a  milliner's  shop, 
whose  highest  ambition  was  to  be  prettier  and  better  dressed 
than  other  women  ? 

The  season  was  six  weeks  old.  It  was  Ascot  week,  the  croAvn- 
ing  glory  of  the  year,  and  Lesbia  and  her  chaperon  had  secured 
tickets  for  the  Royal  inclosure — or  it  may  be  said  rather  that 
Lesbia  had  secured  them — for  the  Master  of  the  Royal  Buck- 
hoimds  might  have  omitted  poor  old  Lady  Kirkbank's  familiar 
name  from  his  list  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  lovely  girl  who 
went  everywhere  under  the  veteran's  wing. 

Six  weeks,  and  Lesbia's  appearance  in  society  had  been  one 
perpetual  triumph;  but  as  yet  nothing  serious  had  happened. 
She  had  had  no  offers.  Half  a  dozen  men  had  tried  their  hard- 
est to  propose  to  her — had  sat  out  dances,  had  waylaid  her  in 
conservatories  and  in  back  drawing-rooms,  in  lobbies  while  she 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


217 


waited  for  her  carriage — had  looked  at  her  piteously  with  ten- 
derest  declarations  trembling  on  their  lips ;  but  she  contrived  to 
keep  them  at  bay,  to  strike  them  dumb  by  her  coldness,  or  con- 
found them  by  her  coquetry;  for  all  these  were  ineligibles  whom 
Lady  Lesbia  Haselden  did  not  want  to  have  the  trouble  of  re- 
fusing. 

Lady  Kirkbank  was  in  no  haste  to  marry  her  protegee,  nay, 
it  was  much  more  to  her  interest  that  Lesbia  should  remain 
single  for  three  or  four  seasons,  and  that  she.  Lady  Kirkbank, 
might  have  the  advantage  of  close  association  with  the  young 
beauty,  and  the  privilege  of  spending  Lady  Maulevrier's  money. 
But  she  would  have  liked  to  be  able  to  inform  Lesbia's  grand- 
mother of  some  tremendous  conquest — the  subjugation  of  some 
worthy  victim.  This  herd  of  nobodies — younger  sons  with 
courtesy  titles  and  empty  pockets — ruined  Guardsmen — brief- 
less barristers.  What  was  the  use  of  telling  Lady  Maulevrier 
about  such  barren  victories.'*  Lady  Kirkbank  therefore  con- 
tented herself  with  expatiating  upon  Lesbia's  triumphs  in  a  gen- 
eral way ;  how  graciously  the  Princess  spoke  to  her ;  how  she 
had  been  asked  to  sit  on  the  dais  at  the  ball  at  Marlborough 
House,  and  had  danced  in  the  royal  quadrille. 

"  Has  Lesbia  happened  to  meet  Lord  Hartfield  ? "  Lady 
Maulevrier  asked  incidentally  in  one  of  her  letters. 

No.  Lord  Hartfield  was  in  London,  for  he  had  made  a  great 
speech  in  the  Lords  on  a  question  of  thrilling  interest ;  but  he 
was  not  going  into  society,  or  at  any  rate  into  society  of  a  frivo- 
lous kind.  He  had  given  himself  up  to  politics,  as  so  many 
young  men  did  nowadays,  which  was  altogether  horrid  of  them. 
His  name  had  appeared  in  the  list  of  guests  at  one  or  two  cabi- 
net dinners ;  but  the  world  of  polo  matches  and  afternoon  teas, 
dances  and  dinners,  private  theatricals  and  Orleans  House  sup- 
pers, knew  him  not.  As  a  competitor  on  the  fashionable  race- 
course, Lord  Hartfield  was,  in  common  parlance,  out  of  the 
running. 

And  now  on  this  glorious  June  day,  this  Thursday  of  Thurs- 
days, the  x\scot  Cup  day,  for  the  first  time  since  Lesbia's  debut. 
Lady  Kirkbank  had  occasion  to  smile  upon  an  admirer  whose 
pretensions  were  worthy  of  the  highest  consideration. 

Mr.  Smithson,  of  Park  Lane  and  Old  Place,  near  Henley, 
and  Formosa,  Cowes,  and  Le  Bouge,  Deauville,  and  a  good 
many  others  places  too  numerous  to  mention,  was  one  of  the 
richest  commoners  in  England.  He  was  a  man  of  that  uncer- 
tain period  of  life  which  enemies  call  middle-aged  and  friends 
call  young.     That  he  would  never  see  a  five-and-thirtieth  birth- 


2i8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

day  again  was  certain,  but  whether  he  had  passed  the  rubicon  of 
forty  was  open  to  doubt.  It  is  possible  that  he  was  enjoying 
those  few  golden  years  between  thirty-five  and  forty  which  for 
the  wealthy  bachelor  constitute  verily  the  prime  and  summer 
tide  of  life.  Wisdom  has  come,  experience  has  been  bought, 
taste  has  been  cultivated,  the  man  has  educated  himself  to  the 
uttermost  in  the  great  school  of  daily  life.  He  knows  his  world 
thoroughly,  whatever  that  world  is,  and  he  knows  how  to  enjoy 
every  gift  and  every  advantage  which  Providence  has  bestowed 
upon  him.  Mr.  Smithson  was  a  great  authority  on  the  Stock 
Exchange,  and  was  supposed  to  have  made  his  money  in  foreign 
stocks,  and  to  be,  m  his  easy-going  way,  as  great  a  genius  as 
that  elder  Rothschild,  who,  with  his  back  leaning  against  the 
wall  of  the  "  House,"  seemed  with  those  prophetic  eyes  of  his 
to  peer  into  the  future  of  nations  and  to  read  the  Book  of  Fate. 

Mr.  Smithson  was  said  to  have  commenced  life  in  a  very  hum- 
ble capacity,  There  were  some  who  said  he  was  the  very  youth 
who  stooped  to  pick  up  a  pin  in  a  great  banker's  court-yard, 
after  his  services  as  clerk  had  just  been  rejected  by  the  firm, 
and  who  was  thereupon  recognized  as  a  youth  worthy  of  favor 
and  taken  into  the  banker's  office.  But  this  touching  incident 
of  the  pin  was  too  ancient  a  tradition  to  fit  Mr.  Smithson,  still 
under  forty. 

Some  there  were  who  remembered  him  twenty  years  ago  as 
an  adventurer  in  the  great  wilderness  of  London,  penniless, 
friendless,  a  Jack  of  all  trades,  living  as  the  birds  of  the  air  live, 
and  with  as  little  certainty  of  future  maintenance.  And  then 
Mr.  Smithson  disappeared  for  a  space — a  span  of  years — he 
went  under,  as  his  friends  called  it,  to  reappear  fifteen  years 
later  as  Smithson,  the  millionaire.  He  had  been  in  Mexico,  he 
had  been  in  California,  he  had  traded  in  hides,  in  diamonds,  in 
silver,  in  stocks  and  shares.  And  now  he  was  ^he  great  Smith- 
son,  whose  voice  was  the  voice  of  an  oracle,  who  was  supposed 
to  be  able  to  make  the  fortunes  of  other  men  by  a  word  or  a 
wink,  a  nod,  or  a  little  look  across  the  crowd,  and  whom  all  the 
men  and  women  in  London  society — short  of  that  exclusive  cir- 
cle which  does  not  open  its  ranks  to  Smithsons — were  ready  to 
cherish  and  admire. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  been  in  St.  Petersburg,  Paris,  Vienna,  all 
over  civilized  Europe  during  the  last  five  weeks.  He  came  back 
to  London  in  time  for  the  Cup  Da}^,  and  in  time  to  fall  desper- 
ately in  love  with  Lesbia,  whom  he  met  for  the  first  time  in  the 
royal  inclosure. 

She  was  dressed  in  white,  purest  ivory  white,  from  top  to  toe 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  219 

— radiant,  dazzling,  under  an  immense  sunshade  fringed  with 
creamy  marabouts.  Her  complexion — untouched  by  Seraphine 
' — ner  dark  and  glossy  hair,  her  large  violet  eyes,  luminous,  dark 
almost  to  blackness,  were  all  set  off  and  accentuated  by  the  ab- 
sence of  all  color  in  her  costume.  Even  the  cluster  of  exotics 
on  her  shoulder  were  of  the  same  pure  tint,  gardenias  and  lilies 
of  the  valley. 

Mr.  Smithson  was  formally  presented  to  the  new  beauty,  and 
received  with  a  cool  contempt  which  riveted  his  chains.  He 
was  so  accustomed  to  be  run  after  by  women  that  it  was  a  new 
sensation  to  meet  one  who  was  not  in  the  least  impressed  by  his 
superior  merits. 

"  I  don't  suppose  the  girl  knows  who  I  am,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, for  although  he  had  a  very  good  idea  of  his  intrinsic  worth, 
he  knew  that  his  wealth  ranked  first  among  his  merits. 

But  on  after  occasions,  when  Lesbia  had  been  told  all  that 
could  be  told  to  the  advantage  of  Mr.  Smithson,  she  accepted 
his  homage  with  the  same  indifference,  and  treated  him  no  bet- 
ter than  the  ruined  Guardsmen  and  younger  sons  who  were  dy- 
ing for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  PROUD    CAN    I    NEVER    BE    OF    WHAT    I    HATE,'* 

It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and  even  in  that  great  world 
which  has  no  occupation  in  life  except  to  amuse  itself,  whose 
days  are  all  holidays,  there  is  a  sort  of  exceptional  flavor,  a  kind 
of  extra  excitement  on  Saturday  afternoons,  distinguished  by 
polo  matches  at  Hurlingham,  just  as  Saturday  evenings  are  by 
the  productions  of  new  plays.  There  was  a  great  military  polo 
match  for  this  particular  Saturday — Lancers  against  Dragoons. 
It  was  a  lovely  June  afternoon,  and  Hurlingham  would  be  at  its 
best.  The  cool,  green  sward,  the  branching  trees,  the  flowing 
river  would  afford  an  unspeakable  relief  after  the  block  of  car- 
riages in  Bond  Street  and  the  heated  air  of  London  ;  and  to 
Hurlingham  Lady  Kirkbank  drove  directly  after  luncheon. 

Lesbia  leaned  back  in  the  barouche  listening  calmly,  while 
her  chaperon  expatiated  upon  the  wealth  and  possessions  of 
Mr.  Smithson.  It  was  now  ten  days  since  the  meeting  at  Ascot, 
and  Mr.  Smithson  had  contrived  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Lesbia 
in  that  short  time.     He  was  invited  almost  everywhere,  and  he 


220  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

had  haunted  her  at  afternoon  and  evening  parties  ;  he  had  sup- 
ped in  Arlington  Street  after  the  opera ;  he  had  played  cards 
with  Lesbia,  and  had  enjoyed  the  felicity  of  winning  her  money. 
His  admiration  was  obvious,  and  there  was  a  seriousness  in  his 
manner  of  pursuing  her  which  showed  that  in  Lady  Kirkbank's 
unromantic  phraseology  "  the  man  meant  business." 

"  Smithson  is  caught  at  last,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Georgie. 
"  The  creature  is  an  abominable  flirt,  and  has  broken  more  hearts 
than  any  man  in  London.  He  was  all  but  the  death  of  one  of 
the  dearest  girls  I  know." 

"  Mr.  Smithson  break  hearts  !  "  exclaimed  Lesbia,  languidly. 
"  I  should  not  have  thought  that  was  in  his  line.  Mr.  Smithson 
is  not  an  Adonis,  nor  is  he  particularly  fascinating." 

"  My  child,  how  fresh  you  are  !  Do  you  suppose  it  is  the 
handsomest  men  or  the  fascinating  men  for  whom  women  break 
their  hearts  in  society  1  It  is  the  rich  men  they  all  want  to 
marry— men  like  Smithson,  who  can  give  them  diamonds,  and 
yachts,  and  a  hunting  stud,  and  half  a  dozen  fine  houses.  Those 
are  the  prizes — the  blue  ribbons  of  the  matrimonial  race-course 
— men  like  Smithson,  who  pretend  to  admire  all  the  pretty 
women,  who  dangle^  and  dangle,  and  dangle,  and  keep  off  other 
offers,  and  give  ten-guinea  bouquets,  and  then  at  the  end  of  the 
season  are  off  to  Plombourg  or  the  Scotch  moors,  without  a  word. 
Do  you  think  that  kind  of  treatment  is  not  hard  enough  to  break 
a  penniless  girl's  heart  ?  She  sees  the  golden  prize  within  her 
grasp,  as  she  believes;  she  tiiinks  that  she  and  poverty  have 
parted  company  ;  she  imagines  herself  mistress  of  town  houses 
and  country  houses,  yachts  and  stables;  and  then  one  fine 
morning  the  gentleman  is  off  and  away  !  Do  not  you  think  that 
is  enough  to  break  a  girl's  heart  ?  " 

"  I  can  imagine  that  a  girl  steeped  to  the  lips  in  poverty  might  be 
willing  to  marry  Mr.  Smithson 's  houses  and  yachts,"  answered 
Lesbia  in  her  low,  sweet  voice,  with  a  faint  sneer  even  amidst 
the  sweetness,  "but  I  think  it  must  be  a  happy  release  for  any 
one  to  be  let  off  the  sacrifice  at  the  last  moment." 

"  Poor  Belle  Trinder  did  not  think  so." 

"  Who  was  Belle  Trinder  ?  " 

"  A  poor  parson's  daughter  whom  I  took  under  my  wing  five 
years  ago — a  splendid  girl,  large  and  fair,  and  just  a  trifle  coarse 
— not  to  be  spoken  of  in  the  same  day  with  you,  dearest,  but  still 
a  decidedly  handsome  creature.  And  she  took  remarkably  well. 
She  was  a  very  lively  girl,  '  never  ran  mute,'  Sir  George  used  to 
say.  Sir  George  was  very  fond  of  her.  She  amused  him,  poor 
girl,  with  her  rather  brainless  rattle." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  221 

"  Did  Mr.  Smithson  admire  her  ?  " 

"  Followed  her  about  everywhere,  sent  her  whole  flower  gar- 
dens in  the  way  of  bouquets  and  Japanese  baskets,  and  floral 
parures  for  her  gowns,  and  opera  boxes  and  concert  tickets. 
Their  names  were  always  coupled.  People  used  to  call  them 
Bel  and  Dragon.  The  poor  child  made  up  her  mind  she  was  to 
be  Mrs.  Smithson.  She  used  to  talk  of  what  she  would  do  for 
her  own  people — the  poor  old  father,  buried  alive  in  an  Essex  par- 
sonage, and  struggling  every  Winter  with  chronic  bronchitis ; 
the  four  younger  sisters  pining  in  dullness  and  penury ;  the 
mother  who  hardly  knew  what  it  was  to  rest  from  the  continual 
worries  of  daily  life." 

"  Poor  things,"  sighed  Lesbia,  gazing  admiringly  at  the  handle 
of  her  last  new  sunshade. 

"  Belle  used  to  talk  of  what  she  would  do  for  them  all,"  pur- 
sued Lady  Kirkbank.  Father  should  go  every  year  to  the  villa 
at  Monte  Carlo,  mother  and  the  girls  should  have  a  month  in 
Park  Lane  every  season,  and  their  Autumn  holiday  at  one  of 
Mr.  Smithson's  country  houses.  I  knew  the  world  well  enough  to 
be  sure  that  this  kind  of  thing  would  never  answer  with  a'man 
like  Smithson.  It  is  only  one  man  in  a  thousand — the  modern 
Arthur,  the  modern  Don  Quixote — who  will  marry  a  whole  family. 
I  told  Belle  as  much,  but  she  laughed.  She  felt  so  secure  of  her 
power  over  the  man, '  he  will  do  anything  I  ask  him,'  she  said." 

"  Miss  Trinder  must  be  an  extraordinary  young  person,"  ob- 
served Lesbia,  scornfully.  "  The  man  had  not  proposed,  had 
he  ?  " 

"  No,  the  actual  proposal  hung  fire,  but  Belle  thought  it  was  a 
settled  thing,  all  the  same.  Everybody  talked  to  her  as  if  she 
were  engaged  to  Smithson,  and  these  poor,  ignorant  Vicarage 
girls  used  to  write  her  long  letters  of  congratulation,  envying  her 
her  good  fortune,  speculating  about  what  she  would  do  when 
she  was  married.  The  girl  was  too  open  and  candid  for  London 
society — talked  too  much,  '  gave  the  view  holloa  before  she  was 
sure  of  her  fox,'  Sir  George  said.  All  this  silly  talk  came  to 
Smithson's  ears,  and  one  morning  we  read  in  the  Post  that  Mr. 
Smithson  had  started  the  day  before  for  Algiers,  where  he  was 
to  stay  at  the  house  of  the  English  consul  and  hunt  lions.  We 
waited  all  day,  hoping  for  some  letter  of  explanation,  some 
friendly  farewell  which  would  mean  a  revoir.  But  there  was 
nothing,  and  then  poor  Belle  gave  way  altogether.  She  shut 
herself  up  in  her  room,  went  out  of  one  hysterical  fit  into  another. 
I  never  heard  a  girl  sob  so  terribly.  She  was  not  fit  to  be  seen 
for  a  week,  and  then  she  went  home  to  her  father's  parsonage  in 


222  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

the  flat,  swampy  country,  on  the  borders  of  Suffolk,  and  eat  her 
heart,  as  Byron  calls  it.  And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  she  had 
no  actual  justification  for  considering  herself  jilted.  She  had 
talked,  and  other  people  had  talked,  and  among  them  they  had 
settled  the  business.  But  Smithson  had  said  hardly  anything. 
He  had  only  flirted  to  his  heart's  content,  and  had  spent  a  few 
hundreds  upon  flowers,  gloves  and  opera  tickets,  which  perhaps 
would  not  have  been  accepted  by  a  girl  with  a  strong  sense  of 
her  own  dignity." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  interjected  Lesbia. 

"  But  which  poor  Belle  was  only  too  delighted  to  get." 

"  Miss  Trinder  must  be  very  bad  style,"  said  Lesbia,  with  lan- 
guid scorn,  "  and  Mr.  Smithson  is  an  execrable  person.  Did 
she  die  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  she  is  alive,  poor  soul !  " 

"  You  said  he  broke  her  heart." 

" '  The  heart  may  break,  yet  openly  live  on,'  "  quoted  Lady 
Kirkbank.  "  The  disappointed  young  women  don't  all  die. 
They  take  to  district  visiting,  or  rational  dressing,  or  china 
painting,  or  an  ambulance  brigade.  The  lucky  ones  marry  well- 
to-do  widowers  with  large  families,  and  so  slip  into  a  comforta- 
ble groove  by  the  time  they  are  five-and-thirty.  Poor  Belle  is 
still  single,  still  buried  in  the  damp  parsonage,  where  she  paints 
plates  and  teacups,  and  wears  out  my  old  gowns,  just  as  she  is 
wearing  out  her  life,  poor  creature  !  " 

"The  idea  of  any  one  wanting  to  marry  Mr.  Smithson,"  said 
Lesbia.     "  It  seems  too  dreadful." 

"  A  case  of  real  destitution,  you  think.  Wait  till  you  have 
seen  Smithson's  house  in  Park  Lane — his  team,  his  yacht,  his 
orchid  houses  in  Berkshire." 

Lesbia  sighed.  Her  knowledge  of  London  society  was  only 
seven  weeks  old  ;  and  yet  already  the  day  of  disenchantment  had 
begun.  She  was  having  her  eyes  opened  to  the  stern  realities 
of  life.  A  year  ago,  when  her  appearance  in  the  great  world 
was  still  only  a  dream  of  the  future,  she  had  pictured  to  herself  the 
crowd  of  suitors  who  would  come  to  woo,  and  she  had  resolved 
to  choose  the  worthiest 

What  would  he  be  like,  that  worthiest  among  the  wooers, 
her  King  Arthur  among  her  knights  ? 

First  and  foremost,  he  would  be  of  rank  higher  than  her  own 
— a  duke,  a  marquis,  or  one  of  the  first  and  oldest  among  earls. 
Title  and  lofty  lineage  were  indispensable.  It  would  be  a  fall, 
a  failure,  a  disappointment,  were  she  to  marry  a  commoner, 
however  distinguished. 


PHANTOM  FORTUiYE. 


223 


The  worthy  one  must  be  noble,  therefore,  and  of  the  old  no- 
bility. He  must  be  young,  handsome,  intellectual.  He  must 
stand  out  from  among  his  peers  by  his  gifts  of  mind  and  person. 
He  must  have  won  distinction  in  the  arena  of  politics,  or  diplo- 
macy, arms  or  letters.     He  must  be  "  somebody." 

She  had  been  seven  weeks  in  society,  and  this  modern  Arthur 
had  not  appeared.  So  far  as  she  had  beer^able  to  discover, 
there  was  no  such  person.  The  dukes  an^  marquises  were 
mostly  men  of  advanced  years.  The  young  unmarried  nobility 
were  given  over  to  sport,  play  and  foolishness.  She  had  heard 
of  only  one  man  who  at  all  corresponded  with  her  ideal,  and  he 
was  Lord  Hartlield.  But  Lord  Hartfield  had  given  himself  up 
to  politics,  and  was  no  doubt  a  prig.  Lady  Kirkbank  spoke  of 
him  with  contempt,  as  an  intolerable  person.  But  then  Lord 
Hartfield  was  not  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  set.  He  belonged  to  that 
serious  circle  to  which  Lady  Kirkbank's  house  appeared  about 
as  reputable  a  place  or  gathering  as  a  booth  on  a  race-course. 

And  now  Lady  Kirkbank  told  Lesbia  that  this  Mr.  Smithson, 
a  nobody  with  a  great  fortune,  was  a  man  whose  addresses  she, 
the  sister  of  Lord  Maulevrier,  ought  to  welcome.  Mr.  Smithson, 
whose  arrogant  claim  of  belonging  to  those  great  Smithsons  whose 
crest  he  bore  on  his  carriage  panels  was  almost  too  shallow  for 
the  belief  of  toadies  and  sycophants.  She  was  told  that  her 
conquest  of  Mr.  Smithson  was  her  first  real  triumph,  and  that 
she  had  reason  to  be  glad  and  proud. 

Lady  Kirkbank  and  all  Lady  Kirkbank's  friends  seemed  to 
have  conspired  to  teach  her  one  lesson,  and  that  lesson  meant 
that  money  was  the  first  prize  in  the  great  game  of  life.  Money 
ranked  before  everything — before  titles,  before  noble  lineage, 
genius,  fame,  beauty,  courage,  honor.  Money  was  Alpha  and 
Omega,  the  beginning  and  the  end.  Mr.  Smithson,  whose  ante- 
cedents were  as  cloudy  as  those  of  Aphrodite,  was  a  greater 
man  than  a  peer  whose  broad  acres  only  brought  him  two  per 
cent.,  or  half  of  whose  farms  were  tenantless,  and  his  fields 
growing  cockle  instead  of  barley. 

Yes,  Lady  Lesbia's  illusions  were  reft  from  her  one  by  one. 
A  year  ago  she  had  fancied  beauty  all  powerful,  a  gift  which 
must  insure  to  its  possessor  dominion  over  all  the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth.  Rank,  intellect,  fame  would  bow  down  before  that 
magical  diadem.  And,  behold  she  had  been  shining  upon  Lon- 
don society  for  seven  weeks,  and  only  empty  heads  and  empty 
pockets  had  bowed  down — the  frivolous,  the  ineligible — and  Mr. 
Smithson. 

Another  illusion  which  had  been  dispelled  was  Lesbia's  com- 


224  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

fortable  idea  of  her  own  expectations.  Her  grandmother  had 
told  her  that  she  might  take  rank  among  heiresses;  and  she 
had  held  herself  accordingly,  deeming  that  her  place  was  among 
the  wealthiest.  And  now^  since  Mr.  Smithson's  appearance 
upon  the  scene,  Lady  Kirkbank  mformed  her  with  friendly  can- 
dor that  Lady  Maulevrier's  fortune,  however  large  it  might 
seem  at  Grasmere,  would  be  a  poor  thing  in  London,  and  that 
Lady  Maulevrier's  ideas  about  money  were  as  old-fashioned  as 
her  notions  about  morals. 

"  Life  is  about  six  times  as  expensive  as  it  was  in  your  grand- 
mother's time,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  as  the  carriage  rolled 
softly  along  the  shabby  road  between  Knightsbridge  and  Ful- 
ham.  "  It  is  the  pace  that  kills.  Society,  which  used  to  jog 
along  comfortably,  like  the  old  Brighton  stage,  at  ten  miles  an 
hour,  now  goes  as  fast  as  the  Brighton  express.  In  my  mother's 
time  poor  Lord  Byron  was  held  up  to  the  execration  of  respect- 
able people  as  the  type  of  cynical  profligacy ;  in  my  own  time 
people  talked  about  Lord  Waterford ;  but  my  dear,  the  young 
men  now  are  all  Byrons  and  Waterfords,  without  the  genius  of 
the  one  or  the  generosity  of  the  other.  We  are  all  going  at 
steeple-chase  rate.  Social  success  without  money  is  impossible. 
The  rich  Americans,  the  successful  Jews,  will  crowd  us  out  un- 
less we  keep  pace  with  them.  Ah,  Lesbia,  my  dear  girl,  there 
would  be  a  great  future  before  you  if  you  could  only  make  up 
your  mind  to  accept  Mr.  Smithson." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  means  to  propose  to  me  ? "  asked 
Lesbia,  mockingly.  "  Perhaps  he  is  only  going  to  behave  as  he 
did  to  Miss  Trinder." 

'''  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden  is  a  very  different  person  from  a 
country  parson's  daughter,"  answered  her  chaperon  ;  "  Smithson 
told  me  all  about  it  afterward.  He  was  really  smitten  by 
Belle's  showy  good  looks,  but  one  of  her  particular  friends  told 
him  of  her  foolish  talk  about  her  sisters  and  how  well  she  meant 
to  get  them  married  when  she  was  Mrs.  Smithson.  This  dis' 
gusted  him.  He  went  down  to  Essex,  reconnoitered  the  parson- 
age, saw  one  of  the  sisters  hanging  out  cuffs  and  collars  in  the 
orchard — another  feeding  the  fowls — both  in  shabby  gowns  and 
country-made  boots;  one  of  them  with  red  hair  and  freckles. 
The  mother  was  bargaining  for  fish  with  a  hawker  at  the  kitchen 
door.  And  these  were  the  people  he  was  expected  to  import 
into  Park  Lane,  under  ceilings  painted  by  Leighton.  These 
were  the  people  he  was  to  exhibit  on  board  his  yacht,  to  cart 
about  on  his  drag.  '  I  had  half  made  up  my  mind  to  marry  the 
girl,   but   I    would   sooner  have   hung  myself   than   marry  her 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  225 

mother  and  sisters,  so  I  took  the  first  train  for  Paris  en  route  to 
Algiers,'  said  Smithson,  and  upon  my  word  I  could  hardly  blame 
the  man,"  continued  Lady  Kirkbank. 

They  were  driving  up  the  narrow  avenue  to  the  gates  of  Hur- 
lingham  by  chis  time.  Lesbia  shook  out  her  frock  and  looked 
at  her  gloves,  tan-colored  mousquetaires,  reaching  up  to  the  el- 
bow, and  embroidered  to  match  her  frock. 

To-day  she  was  a  study  in  brown  and  gold.  Brown  satin  pet- 
ticoat embroidered  with  marsh  marigolds ;  little  bronze  shoes, 
with  marsh  marigolds  tied  on  the  latchets ;  brown  stockings 
with  marsh  marigold  clocks ;  tunic  brown  foulard  smothered 
with  quillings  of  soft  brown  lace ;  Princess  bonnet  of  brown 
straw,  with  a  wreath  of  marsh  marigolds  and  a  neat  little  buckle 
of  brown  diamonds ;  parasol  of  brown  satin,  with  an  immense 
bunch  of  marsh  marigolds  on  the  top,  fan  to  match  parasoL 

The  seats  in  front  of  the  field  were  nearly  full  when  Lady 
Kirkbank  and  Lesbia  left  their  carriage  ;  but  their  interests  had 
been  protected  by  a  gentleman  who  had  turned  down  two  chairs 
and  sat  between  them  on  guard.     This  was  Mr.  Smithson. 

"  I  have  been  sitting  here  for  an  hour  keeping  your  chairs," 
he  said,  as  he  rose  to  greet  them.  "  You  have  no  idea  what  a 
fight  I  have  had,  and  how  suspiciously  all  the  women  have  looked 
at  me." 

The  match  was  going  on.  The  Lancers  scuffiing  for  the  ball 
—a  fine  display  of  hog-maned  ponies  and  close-cropped  men  in 
ideal  boots.  But  Lesbia  cared  very  little  about  the  match.  She 
was  looking  along  the  serried  ranks  of  youth  and  beauty  to  see 
if  anybody's  costume  looked  smarter  than  her  own. 

No.  She  could  see  nothing  she  liked  so  well  as  her  brown 
satin  and  buttercups.  She  sat  down  in  a  perfectly  contented 
frame  of  mind,  pleased  with  herself  and  with  Seraphine — pleased 
even  with  Mr.  Smithson,  who  had  shown  himself  devoted  by  his 
patient  attendance  upon  the  empty  chairs. 

After  the  match  was  over  the  two  ladies  and  their  attendant 
strolled  about  the  gardens.  Other  men  came  and  fluttered 
round  Lesbia,  and  women  and  girls  excnanged  endearing  smiles 
and  pretty  little  words  of  greeting  with  her,  and  envied  her  the 
brown  frock  and  buttercups  and  Mr.  Smithson  at  her  chariot 
wheel.  And  then  they  went  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  club- 
house, which  was  so  crowded  that  even  Mr.  Smithson  found  it 
difficult  to  get  a  tea-table,  and  would  hardly  have  succeeded  so 
soon  as  he  did  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  assistance  of  a  couple 
of  Lesbia's  devoted  Guardsmen,  who  ran  to  and  fro  and  bad- 
gered the  waiters. 


226  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

After  much  skirmishing  they  were  seated  at  a  rustic  round 
table,  the  blue  river  gleaming  and  glancing  in  the  distance,  the 
good  old  trees  spreading  their  broad  shadows  over  the  grass, 
the  company  crowding  and  chattering  and  laughing — an  anima- 
ted picture  of  pretty  faces,  smart  gowns,  big  parasols,  Japanese 
fans. 

Lesbia  poured  out  the  tea  with  the  prettiest  air  of  domesticity. 

"  Can  you  really  pour  out  tea  ?  "  gasped  a  callow  lieutenant, 
gazing  upon  her  with  goggling,  enraptured  eyes.  "  I  did  not 
think  you  could  do  anything  so  earthly." 

"  I  can,  and  drink  it  too,"  answered  Lesbia,  laughing.  "  I 
adore  tea.     Cream  and  sugar  ?  " 

"  What — I  beg  your  pardon — how  many  ?  "  murmured  the 
youth,  who  had  lost  himself  in  gazing,  and  no  longer  understood 
plain  English. 

Mr.  Smithson  frowned  at  the  intruder,  and  contrived  to  ab- 
sorb Lesbia's  attention  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  He  had 
a  good  deal  more  to  say  for  himself  than  her  military  admirers, 
and  was  altogether  more  amusing.  He  had  a  little  cynical  air 
which  Lesbia's  recent  education  had  taught  her  to  enjoy.  He 
depreciated  all  her  female  friends — abused  their  gowns  and  bon- 
nets, and  gave  her  to  understand,  between  the  lines  as  it  were, 
that  she  was  the  only  woman  in  London  worth  thinking  about. 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  wondering  how  Belle  Trinder 
had  been  able  to  resign  herself  to  the  idea  of  marrying  him. 

He  was  not  absolutely  bad-looking — but  he  was  in  all  things 
unlike  a  girl's  ideal  lover.  He  was  short  and  stout,  with  a  pale 
complexion,  and  sunken  faded  eyes,  as  of  a  man  who  had  spent 
the  greater  part  of  his  life  by  candle-light  and  had  pored  much 
over  ledgers  and  bank  books,  share  lists  and  prospectuses.  He 
dressed  well,  or  allowed  himself  to  be  dressed  by  the  most  cor- 
rect of  tailors — the  Prince's  tailor — but  he  never  attempted  to 
lead  the  fashion  in  his  garments.  He  had  no  originality.  Such 
sublime  flights  as  that  of  the  man  who  revived  corduroy,  or  of 
him  who  resuscitated  the  half-forgotten  Inverness  coat,  were  un- 
known to  him.  He  could  only  follow  the  lead  of  the  highest. 
He  had  small  feet,  of  which  he  was  intensely  proud,  pudgy  white 
hands,  on  which  he  wore  the  most  exquisite  of  rings.  He 
changed  them  every  day  like  a  Roman  Emperor;  was  reported 
to  have  summer  and  winter  rings' — onyx  and  the  coolest  look- 
ing intaglios  set  in  slenderest  gold  rims  for  warm  weather — fiery 
rubies  and  diamonds  for  Winter.  He  was  said  to  devote  half 
an  hour  every  morning  to  the  treatment  of  his  nails,  which  were 
perfect.     All  the  inkstains  of  his  youth  had  been  obliterated, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


227 


and  those  nails  which  had  once  been  bitten  to  the  quick  during 
the  hours  of  financial  study  were  now  things  of  beauty. 

Lady  Lesbia  surveyed  Mr.  Smithson  critically,  and  shuddered 
at  the  thought  that  this  person  was  the  best  substitute  which  the 
season  had  yet  offered  her  for  her  ideal  knight.  She  thought 
of  John  Hammond,  the  tall,  strong  figure,  straight  and  square ; 
the  head  so  proudly  carried  on  a  neck  which  would  have  graced 
a  Greek  arena.  The  straight,  clearly  cut  features,  the  flashing 
eyes,  bright  with  youth  and  hope  and  the  promise  of  all  good 
things.  Yes,  there  was  indeed  a  man — a  man  in  all  the  nobility 
of  manhood,  as  God  made  him,  an  Adam  before  the  Fall. 

Ah,  if  John  Hammond  had  only  possessed  a  quarter  of  Mr. 
Smithson's  wealth,  how  gladly  would  Lesbia  have  defied  the 
world  and  married  him.  But  to  defy  the  world  upon  nothing  a 
year  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  Why  didn't  he  go  on  the  Stock  Exchange  and  make  his  fort- 
une t "  thought  Lesbia,  pettishly,  "  instead  of  talking  vaguely 
about  politics  and  literature." 

She  felt  angry  with  her  rejected  lover  for  having  come  to  her 
empty-handed.  She  had  seen  no  man  in  London  who  was,  or 
who  seemed  to  her,  his  equal.  And  yet  she  did  not  repent  of 
having  rejected  him.  The  more  she  knew  of  the  world  and  the 
more  she  knew  of  herself  the  more  deeply  was  she  convinced 
that  poverty  was  an  evil  thing,  and  chat  she  was  not  the  right 
kind  of  person  to  endure  it. 

She  was  inwardly  making  these  comparisons  as  they  strolled 
back  to  the  carriage,  while  Mr.  Smithson  and  Lady  Kirkbank 
talked  confidently  at  her  side. 

"  Do  you  know  that  Lady  Kirkbank  has  promised  and  vowed 
three  things  for  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Smithson. 

"  Indeed  !  I  thought  I  was  past  the  age  at  which  one  can 
be  compromised  by  other  people's  promises.  Pray,  what  are 
these  three  things  ? " 

"  First,  that  you  will  come  to  breakfast  in  Park  Lane  with 
Lady  Kirkbank  next  Wednesday  morning.  I  say  Wednesday 
because  that  will  give  me  time  to  ask  some  nice  people  to 
meet  you  ;  secondly,  that  you  will  honor  me  by  occupying  my 
box  at  the  Lyceum  some  evening  next  week ;  and  thirdly,  that 
you  will  allow  me  to  drive  you  down  to  the  Orleans  for  sup- 
per after  the  play.  The  drive  only  takes  an  hour,  and  the 
moonlight  nights  are  delicious  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

"  I  am  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  hands,"  answered  Lesbia,  laugh- 
ing. "  I  am  her  goods,  her  chattels ;  she  takes  me  wherever 
she  likes." 


228  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  But  would  you  refuse  to  do  me  this  honor  if  you  were  a 
free  agent  ? " 

"  I  can't  tell,  I  hardly  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  free  agent. 
At  Gransmere  I  did  whatever  my  grandmother  told  me — in 
London  I  obey  Lady  Kirkbank,  I  was  transferred  from  one 
master  to  another.  Why  should  we  breakfast  in  Park  Lane  in- 
stead of  Arlington  Street  }  What  is  the  use  of  crossing  Picca- 
dilly to  eat  our  breakfast  t " 

This  was  a  cool-headed  style  of  treatment  to  which  Mr. 
Smithson  w^as  not  accustomed,  and  which  charmed  him  accord- 
ingly. Young  women  usually  threw  themselves  at  his  head,  as 
it  were  ;  but  here  was  a  girl  who  talked  to  him  as  indifferently 
as  if  he  were  a  tradesman  offering  his  wares. 

"  What  a  dreadfully  practical  person  you  are  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  What  is  the  use  of  crossing  Piccadilly  }  Well,  in  the  first 
place,  you  will  make  me  ineffably  happy.  But  perhaps  that 
doesn't  count.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall  be  able  to  show 
you  some  rather  good  pictures  of  the  French  school — " 

"  I  hate  the  French  school ! "  interjected  Lesbia.  "  Tricky, 
flashy,  chalky,  shallow,  smelling  of  the  footlights  and  the 
studio." 

"  Well,  sink  the  pictures.  You  will  meet  some  very  charm- 
ing people  belonging  to  that  artist  world  which  is  not  to  be 
met  everywhere." 

"  I  will  go  to  Park  Lane  to  meet  your  people  if  Lady  Kirk- 
bank  likes  to  take  me,"  said  Lesbia,  and  with  this  answer 
Mr.  Smithson  was  bound  to  be   content. 

"  My  pet,  if  you  had  made  it  the  study  of  your  life  how  to 
treat  that  man  you  could  not  do  it  better,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank, 
when  they  were  driving  along  the  dusty  road  between  dusty 
hedges  and  dusty  trees,  past  that  last  remnant  of  country  which 
was  daily  being  debased  into  London.  ''Upon  my  word,  Les- 
bia, I  begin  to  think  you  must  be  a  genius." 

"  Did  you  see  any  gowns  you  liked  better  than  mine  ?  "  asked 
Lesbia,  reclining  reposefully,  with  her  little  bronze  shoes  upon 
fhe  opposite  cushion. 

"  Not  one — Seraphine  has  surpassed  herself." 

"  You  are  always  saying  that.  One  would  suppose  you  were 
a  sleeping  partner  in  the  firm.  But  I  really  think  this  brown 
and  buttercups  is  rather  nice.  I  saw  that  odious  American 
girl  just  now — Miss — Miss  Milwaukee,  the  girl  people  raved 
about  at  Cannes.  She  was  in  pale  blue  and  cream  color — a 
milk  and  water  mixture — and  looked  positively  plain." 

Lady  Kirkbank  and  Lady  Lesbia  drove  across  Piccadilly  at 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  229 

eleven  o'clock  on  Wednesday  morning  to  breakfast  with  Mr. 
Smithson,  and  although  Lesbia  had  questioned  whether  it  was 
worth  while  crossing  Piccadilly  to  eat  one's  breakfast,  she  had 
subsequently  considered  it  worth  while  ordering  a  new  gown  from 
Seraphine  for  the  occasion  ;  or,  it  may  be  said,  rather  that  the 
breakfast  made  a  plausible  excuse  for  a  new  gown,  the  pleasure 
of  ordering  which  was  one  of  those  joys  of  London  which  had 
not  yet  lost  its  savor. 

Mr.  Smithson's  house  in  Park  Lane  was  simply  perfect.  It 
is  wonderful  what  good  use  a  parvenu  can  make  of  his  money 
nowadays,  and  how  rarely  he  disgraces  himself  by  any  marked 
offenses"^  against  good  taste.  There  are  so  many  people  at  hand 
to  teach  the  parvenu  how  to  furnish  his  house,  or  how  to  choose 
his  stud.  If  he  go  wrong  it  must  be  by  sheer  perversity,  an  ar- 
rogant obstinacy  in  being  governed  by  his  own  ignorant  incli- 
nations. 

But  Smithson  was  too  good  a  tactician  to  go  wrong  in  this  way. 
He  had  taken  the  trouble  to  study  the  market  before  he  went 
out  to  buy  his  goods.  He  knew  that  taste  and  knowledge  were 
to  be  bought  just  as  easily  as  chairs  and  tables,  and  he  went  to 
the  right  shop.  He  employed  a  clever  Scotchman,  an  artist  in 
domestic  furniture,  to  plan  his  house  and  to  make  drawings  for 
the  decoration  and  furniture  of  every  room — and  for  six  months 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  task  of  furnishing. 

Money  was  spent  like  water.  Painters,  decorators,  cabinet- 
makers had  a  merry  time  of  it.  Royal  Academicians  were  im- 
pressed into  the  service  by  large  offers,  and  the  final  result  of 
Mr.  MacWalter's  tastes  and  Mr.  Smithson's  banking  account 
was  a  palace  in  the  style  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  frescoed 
ceilings,  painted  panels,  a  staircase  of  sculptured  marble,  as 
beautiful  as  a  dream,  a  conservatory  as  exquisite  as  a  jewel  cas- 
ket by  Benvenuto  Cellini,  a  picture  gallery  which  was  the  ad- 
miration of  all  London,  and  of  the  enlightened  foreigner,  and  of 
the  inquiring  American.  This  was  the  house  which  Lesbia  had 
been  brought  to  see,  and  through  which  she  walked  with  the 
calmly  critical  air  of  a  person  who  had  seen  so  many  palaces  that 
one  more  or  less  could  make  no  difference. 

In  vain  did  Mr.  Smithson  peruse  her  countenance  in  the  hope 
of  seeing  that  she  was  impressed  by  the  splendor  of  his  surround- 
ings and  by  the  power  of  the  man  who  commanded  such  splendor. 
Lesbia  was  as  cold  as  the  Italian  sculptor's  Reading  Girl  in  an 
alcove  of  Mr.  Smithson's  picture  gallery,  and  the  stockbroker 
felt  very  much  as  Aladdin  might  have  done  if  the  fair  Badroul- 
badour  had  shown  herself  indifferent  to  the  hall  of  the  jeweled 


230  PHANTOM   FORTUNE. 

windows,  in  that  magical  palace  which  sprang  into  being  in  a 
single  night. 

Lesbia  had  been  impressed  by  that  stor\^  of  poor  Belle  Trin- 
der,  and  by  Lady  Kirkbank's  broad  assertion  that  half  the  young 
women  in  London  were  running  after  Mr.  Smithson,  and  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  treat  the  man  with  supreme  scorn.  She 
did  not  want  his  houses  or  his  yachts.  Nothing  could  induce 
her  to  marry  such  a  man,  she  told  herself ;  but  her  vanity  fed 
upon  the  idea  of  his  subjugation,  and  her  pride  was  gratified  by 
the  sense  of  her  power  over  him. 

The  guests  were  few  and  choice.  A  poet,  one  of  the  leading 
lights  in  that  new  sect  which  prides  itself  upon  the  cultivation 
of  abstract  beauty,  and  occasionally  touches  the  verge  of  con 
Crete  ugliness.  A  newspaper  man — the  editor  of  a  fashionable 
journal — and  a  middle-aged  man  of  letters,  playwright,  critic, 
humorist,  a  man  whose  society  was  in  demand  everywhere,  and 
who  said  sharp  things  with  the  most  supreme  good-nature.  A 
fashionable  actress,  with  her  younger  sister,  the  younger  a  pretty 
copy  of  the  elder,  both  dressed  picturesquely  in  flowing  cash- 
mere gowns  of  faint  sea-green,  with  old  lace  fichus,  Leghorn 
hats,  and  a  general  limpness  and  simplicity  of  style  which  suited 
their  cast  of  features  and  delicate  coloring.  Lesbia  wondered  to 
see  how  good  an  effect  could  be  produced  by  a  costume  which 
could  have  cost  so  little.  Mr.  Nightshade,  the  famous  tragedian, 
had  been  also  asked  to  grace  the  feast,  but  the  early  hour  made 
the  invitation  a  mockery.  It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  a  man 
who  went  to  bed  at  daybreak  would  get  up  again  before  the  sun 
was  in  the  zenith  for  the  sake  of  Mr.  Smithson's  society,  or  Mr. 
Smithson's  Strasbourg  pie,  for  the  manufacture  whereof  a  par- 
ticular breed  of  geese  were  supposed  to  be  set  apart,  like  sacred 
birds  in  Egypt,  while  a  particular  vineyard  among  the  golden 
hills  was  supposed  to  be  devoted  wholly  and  solely  to  the  pro- 
duction of  Mr.  Smithson's  champagne.  It  was  a  cabinet  wine, 
like  the  Rudesheimer  or  Marcobrunner  that  is  made  only  for 
German  princes. 

Bieakfast  was  served  in  Mr.  Smithson's  smallest  dining-room 
— there  were  three  apartments  given  up  to  feasting,  beginning 
with  a  spacious  banqueting  room  for  great  dinners,  and  dwin- 
dling down  to  this  snuggery,  which  held  about  a  dozen  comfort- 
ably, with  ample  room  and  verge  enough  for  the  attendants.  The 
walls  were  upholstered  m  old  gold  silk,  the  curtains  a  tawny 
velvet  of  deeper  tone,  the  cabinet  and  buffet  of  dark  Italian  wal- 
nut, inlaid  with  lapis  lazuli  and  amber,  the  fire-place  a  master- 
piece  of  cabinet  work,  with  high  narrow  shelves,  and  curious 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  231 

recesses  holding  priceless  jars  of  Oriental  enamel — the  deep 
hearth  filled  up  with  aram  lilies  and'azalias  like  a  font  at  Easter. 

Ladv  Kirkbank,  who  pretended  to  adore  genius,  was  affec- 
tionately effusive  to  Miss  Fitzherbert,  the  popular  actress,  but 
rather  ignored  the  sister.  Lesbia  was  less  cordial,  and  was  not 
enchanted  at  finding  that  Miss  Fitzherbert  shone  and  sparkled 
at  the  breakfast  table  by  the  gayety  of  her  spirits  and  the  bright- 
ness of  her  conversation.  There  was  something  frank  and  joy- 
ous, almost  to  childishness,  in  her  manner,  which  was  full  of 
fascination  ;  and  Lesbia  felt  herself  at  a  disadvantage  almost 
for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in  London. 

The  editor,  the  wit,  the  poet,  the  actress,  had  a  language  of 
their  own,  and  Lesbia  felt  herself  out  in  the  cold,  unable  to 
catch  the  ball  as  it  glanced  past  her,  not  quick  enough  to  follow 
the  wit  that  evoked  those  ripples  of  silvery  laughter  from  tlie 
two  fair-haired,  pale-faced  girls  in  sea-green  cashmere.  She  felt 
as  an  Englishman  may  feel  who  has  made  himself  master  of 
academical  French,  and  who  takes  up  one  of  Zola's  novels,  or 
goes  into  artistic  society  and  finds  that  there  is  another  French, 
a  complete  and  copious  language,  of  which  he  knows  not  a  word. 

Lesbia  began  to  think  that  she  had  a  great  deal  to  learn.  She 
began  to  wonder  even  whether,  in  the  event  of  her  having  made 
rather  too  free  use  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  carte  blanche,  it  might 
not  be  well  to  make  a  new  departure  in  the  art  of  dressing,  and 
to  wear  untrimmed  cashmere  gowns  and  rags  of  limp  lace. 

After  breakfast  they  all  went  to  look  at  Mr.  Smithson's  pict- 
ure gallery.  His  pictures  were,  as  he  had  told  Lesbia,  chiefly 
of  the  French  school,  and  there  may  have  been  a  remote  period 
— say  in  the  time  of  good  Queen  Charlotte — when  such  pictures 
would  hardly  have  been  exhibited  to  young  ladies.  His  pictures 
were  Mr.  Smithson's  own  unaided  choice.  Here  the  individual 
taste  of  the  man  stood  revealed. 

There  were  two  or  three  Geromes,  and  in  the  place  of  honor 
at  the  end  of  the  gallery  there  was  a  grand  Delaroche,  Anna 
Boleyn's  last  letter  to  the  king,  the  hapless  girl-queen  sitting  at 
a  table  in  her  cell  m  the  Tower,  a  shaft  of  golden  light  from  the 
narrow  window  streaming  on  the  fair,  disordered  hair,  the  face 
blanched  with  unutterable  woe,  a  sublime  image  of  despair  and 
self-abandonment,  all  the  rest  of  the  cell  in  shadow. 

The  larger  pictures  were  historical,  classic,  grand,  but  the 
smaller  pictures—the  lively  little  bits  of  color  dotted  in  here  and 
there — were  of  that  new  school  which  Mr.  Smithson  affected. 
They  were  of  that  school  which  is  called  impressionist,  in  which 
ballet  dancers  and  jockeys,  burlesque  actresses,  bal-masques, 


232  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

and  all  the  humors  of  the  side-scenes  are  represented  with  the 
sublime  audacity  of  an  art  which  disdains  finish  and  relies  on 
the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  Lesbia  blushed  as  she  looked 
at  the  ballet  girls,  thb  maskers  in  their  scanty  raiment,  the  demi- 
mondains  lolling  out  of  their  boxes,  with  false  smiles  and  friz- 
zled hair.  And  then  came  the  works  of  that  other  school,  which 
lavishes  the  finish  of  a  Meissonier  on  the  most  meretricious 
compositions.  A  woman  in  a  velvet  gown  warming  her  toes  on 
a  gilded  fender,  in  a  boudoir  all  aglow  with  color  and  lamplight ; 
a  cavalier  in  satin  raiment  buckling  his  sword-belt  before  a  Ve- 
netian mirror ;  a  pair  of  lovers  kissing  in  a  sun-lit  corridor ;  a 
girl  in  a  hansom-cab ;  a  milliner's  shop,  and  so  on  and  so  on. 

Then  came  the  classical  subjects  of  the  last  new  school. 
Weak  imitations  of  Alma  Tadema.  Nero  admiring  his  mother's 
corpse.  Claudius  interrupting  his  wife's  marriage  with  her 
lover.  Claudius  discovered  in  the  house  of  Caesar.  Pyrrha's 
bower.  Lady  Kirkbank  expatiated  upon  all  the  pictures,  and 
generally  made  unlucky  guesses  at  the  subjects  of  them.  Clas- 
sical literature  was  not  her  strong  point. 

After  this  breakfast  in  Park  Lane  Lady  Lesbia  and  her  ad- 
mirer met  daily.  He  went  to  all  her  parties,  he  sat  out  waltzes 
with  her  in  conservatories  and  on  staircases  ;  for  Horace  Smith- 
son  was  much  too  shrewd  a  man  to  enter  himself  in  the  race  for 
dancing  men,  handicapped  by  his  forty  years  and  his  fourteen 
stone.  He  contrived  to  amuse  Lesbia  by  his  conversation, 
which  was  essentially  mundane,  depreciating  people  whom  all 
the  rest  of  the  world  admired,  or  pretended  to  admire,  telling 
her  of  the  secret  springs  by  which  the  society  she  saw  around 
her  was  moved.  He  was  judicious  in  his  revelations  of  hidden 
evil,  and  careful  to  say  nothing  which  should  offend  Lady  Les- 
bia's  womanly  dignity  ;  yet  he  contrived  in  a  very  short  time  to 
teach  her  that  the  world  m  which  she  lived  was  an  utterly  cor- 
rupt world,  whose  high-priest  was  Satan  ;  that  all  lofty  aspira- 
tions and  noble  sentiments  were  out  of  place  in  society  ;  and 
that  the  worst  among  the  people  she  met  were  the  people  who 
laid  any  claim  to  being  better  than  their  neighbors, 

"  That's  why  I  adore  Lady  Kirkbank,"  he  said  confidentially. 
"  The  dear  soul  never  pretends  to  be  any  better  than  the  rest 
of  us.  She  gambles,  and  we  all  know  she  pegs  ;  and  she  makes 
rather  a  boast  of  being  up  to  her  eyes  in  debt.  No  humbug 
about  dear  old  Georgie  Kirkbank." 

Lesbia  had  seen  enough  of  her  chaperon  by  this  time  to 
know  that  Mr.  Smithson's  description  of  the  lady  was  correct, 
and,  this  being  so,  she  supposed  that  the  facts  and  traits  of 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  233 

character  which  he  told  her  about  in  other  people  were  also 
true.  She  thus  adapted  the  Smithsonian  or  fashionable  pessi- 
mist view  of  society  in  general,  and  resigned  herself  to  the  idea 
that  the  world  was  a  very  wicked  world,  as  well  as  a  very  pleas- 
ant world,  that  the  wickedest  people  were  generally  the  pleas- 
antest,  and  that  it  did  not  much  matter. 

The  fact  that  Mr.  Smithson  was  at  Lesbia  Haselden's  feet 
was  obvious  to  everybody. 

The  lady,  who  had  at  first  treated  him  with  supreme  hauteur, 
had  grown  more  civil  as  she  began  to  understand  the  place  he 
held  in  the  world,  and  how  much  social  influence  goes  along 
with  unlimited  wealth.  She  was  civil,  but  she  had  quite  made 
up  her  mind  that  nothing  could  ever  induce  her  to  become 
Horace  Smithson's  wife.  That  offer  which  had  hung  fire  in  the 
case  of  poor  Belle  Trinder  was  not  too  long  delayed  on  this  oc- 
casion. Mr.  Smithson  called  in  Arlington  Street  about  ten  days 
after  the  breakfast  in  Park  Lane,  before  luncheon,  and  before 
Lady  Kirkbank  had  left  her  room.  He  brought  tickets  for  a 
private  matinee  in  Belgrave  Square,  at  which  a  new  and  w^onder- 
ful  Russian  pianiste  was  to  make  a  kind  of  semi-official  debut. 
They  were  tickets  which  money  could  not  buy,  and  were  thus  a 
worthy  offering  for  Lady  Lesbia,  and  a  plausible  excuse  for 
the  early  call. 

Mr.  Smithson  succeeded  in  seeing  Lady  Lesbia  alone,  and 
then  and  there  with  very  little  circumlocution  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife. 

Her  social  education  had  advanced  with  rapid  strides  since 
that  summer  day  in  the  pine-wood,  when  John  Hammond  had 
wooed  her  with  passionate  wooing.  Mr.  Smithson  was  a  much 
less  ardent  suitor,  and  jnade  his  offer  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
expects  to  be  accepted. 

Lesbia's  beautiful  head  bent  a  little,  like  a  lily  on  its  stalk, 
and  a  faint,  faint  blush  deepened  the  pale  rose  tint  of  her  com- 
plexion. Her  reply  was  courteous  and  conventional.  She  was 
flattered,  she  was  grateful  for  Mr.  Smithson's  high  opinion  of 
her,  but  she  was  deeply  grieved  if  anything  in  her  manner  had 
given  him  reason  to  think  that  he  was  more  to  her  than  a 
friend,  an  old  friend  of  dear  Lady  Kirkbank's,  whom  she  was 
naturally  predisposed  to  like,  as  Lady  Kirkbank's  friend. 

Horace  Smithson  turned  pale  as  death,  but  if  he  was  angry 
he  gave  no  utterance  to  his  angry  feelings.  He  only  asked  if 
Lady  Lesbia's  answer  was  final  ;  and  on  being  told  that  it  was 
so  he  dismissed  the  subject  in  the  easiest  manner,  and  with  a 
gentlemanlike  placidity  which  very  much  astonished  the  lady. 


234  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  You  say  that  you  regard  me  as  your  friend,"  he  said.  "  Do 
not  withdraw  that  privilege  from  me  because  I  have  asked  for  a 
higner  place  in  your  esteem.  Forget  all  I  have  said  this  morn- 
ing.    Be  assured  I  shall  never  offend  you  by  repeating  it." 

"  You  are  more  than  good,"  murmured  Lesbia,  who  had  ex- 
pected a  wild  outbreak  of  despair  or  fury,  rather  than  this 
friendly  calm. 

"  I  hope  that  you  and  Lady  Kirkbank  will  go  and  hear 
Madam  Metzikoff  this  afternoon,"  pursued  Mr.  Smithson,  re- 
turning to  the  subject  of  the  matinee.  ''  The  r3uchess's  rooms 
are  very  lovely;  but  no  doubt  you  know  them." 

Lesbia  blushed,  and  confessed  that  the  Duchess  of  Lostwithiel 
was  one  of  those  select  few  who  were  not  on  Lady  Kirkbank's 
visiting  list. 

"There  are  people  Lady  Kirkbank  cannot  get  on  with,"  she 
said.  "  Perhaps  she  will  hardly  like  to  go  to  the  Duchess's,  as 
she  does  not  visit  her." 

"  Oh,  but  this  affair  counts  for  nothing.  We  go  to  hear  Met- 
zikoff, not  to  bow  down  to  the  Duchess.  All  the  people  in 
town  who  care  for  music  will  be  there,  and  you  who  play  so  di- 
vinely must  enjoy  fine  professional  playing." 

"  I  worship  a  really  great  player,"  said  Lesbia,  "  and  i^  I  can 
drag  Lady  Kirkbank  to  the  house  of  the  enemy,  we  will  be 
there." 

On  this  Mr.  Smithson  discreetly  murmured  "  a  revoir,"  took 
up  his  hat  and  cane,  and  departed,  without,  in  Sir  George's 
parlance,  having  turned  a  hair. 

"  Refusal  number  one,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  went  down 
stairs,  with  his  leisurely,  catlike  pace,  that  velvet  pace  by  which 
he  had  gradually  crept  into  society.  "We  may  have  to  go 
through  refusal  number  two  and  number  three  ;  but  she  means 
to  have  me.  She  is  a  very  clever  girl  for  a  countrybred  one  ; 
and  she  knows  that  it  is  worth  her  while  to  be  Lady  Lesbia 
Smithson." 

This  soliloquy  may  be  taken  to  prove  that  Horace  Smithson 
knew  Lesbia  Haselden  better  than  the  girl  knew  herself.  She 
had  refused  him  in  all  good  faith  ,  but  even  to-day,  after  he  had 
left  her,  she  fell  into  a  day-dream  in  which  Mr.  Smithson's 
houses  and  yachts,  drags  and  hunters  formed  the  shifting  pictures 
in  a  dissolving  view  of  society ;  and  Lesbia  wondered  if  there 
were  any  other  young  woman  in  London  who  would  refuse  such 
an  offer  as  that  which  she  had  quietly  rejected  half  an  houi  ago. 

Lady  Kirkbank  surpiised  her  while  she  was  still  absorbed  in 
this  dreamy  review  of  her  position.     It  is  just  possible  that  the 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  235 

fair  Georgie  may  have  had  notice  of  Mr.  Smithson's  morning 
visit,  and  may  have  kept  out  of  the  way  on  purpose,  for  she  was 
not  a  person  of  lazy  habits,  and  was  generally  ready  for  her  nine 
o'clock  breakfast  and  her  morning  stroll  in  the  Park,  however 
late  she  might  have  been  out  over  night. 

*'  Mr.  Smithson  has  been  here,  I  understand,"  said  Lady 
Kirkbank,  settling  herself  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  open  window, 
after  she  had  kissed  her  protegee.  "  Rilboche  passed  him  on  the 
stairs." 

"  Rilboche  is  always  passing  people  on  the  stairs,"  answered 
Lesbia,  rather  pettishly.  "  I  think  she  must  pass  her  life  on  the 
landing  listening  for  arrivals  and  departures." 

"  I  had  a  kind  of  vague  idea  that  Smithson  would  call  to-day. 
He  was  so  fussy  about  those  tickets  for  the  Metzikoff  recital. 
I  hate  pianoforte  recitals,  and  I  detest  that  starched  old  Duch- 
ess, but  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  take  you  chere — or  poor 
Smithson  will  be  miserable,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  watching 
Lesbia  keenly  over  the  top  of  her  newspaper. 

She  expected  Lesbia  to  confide  in  her,  to  announce  herself 
blushingly  as  the  betrothed  of  one  of  the  richest  commoners  in 
England.  But  Lesbia  sat  gazing  dreamily  across  the  flowers  in 
the  balcony  at  the  house  over  the  way,  and  said  never  a  word ; 
so  Lady  Kirkbank's  curiosity  burst  into  speech. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  has  he  proposed  ?  There  was  something  in 
his  mannei  last  night  when  he  put  on  your  wraps  that  made  me 
think  the  crisis  was  near." 

"  The  crisis  is  come  and  is  past,  and  Mr.  Smithson  and  I  are 
just  as  good  friends  as  ever." 

"  What !  "  screamed  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  you  have  refused  him .? " 

"  Certainly.  You  know  I  never  meant  to  do  anything  else. 
Did  you  think  I  was  like  Miss  Trinder,  bent  upon  marrying  town 
and  country  houses,  stables  and  diamonds  ?  " 

"I  did  not  think  you  were  a  fool,"  cried  Lady  Kirkbank, 
almost  beside  herself  with  vexation,  for  it  had  been  borne  in 
upon  her,  as  the  Methodists  sometimes  say,  that  if  Mr.  Smithson 
prospered  in  his  wooing  it  would  be  the  better  for  her.  Lady 
Kirkbank,  who  would  have  a  claim,  upon  his  kindness  ever  after. 
"What  can  be  your  motive  in  refusing  one  of  the  very  best 
matches  of  the  season — or  of  ever  so  many  seasons?  You 
think,  perhaps,  you  will  marry  a  duke,  if  you  wait  long  enough 
for  his  grace  to  appear ;  but  the  number  of  marrying  dukes  is 
rather  small.  Lady  Lesbia,  and  I  don't  think  any  of  those  would 
care  to  marry  Lord  Maulevrier's  granddaughter." 


236  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Lesbia  started  to  her  feet,  pale  as  ashes. 

"Why  do  you  mention  my  grandfather's  name — and  with 
that  diabolical  sneer  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  When  I  have  asked 
you  about  him  you  have  always  evaded  my  questions.  Why 
should  a  man  of  high  rank  shrink  from  marrying  Lord  Mau- 
levrier's  granddaughter  t  My  grandfather  vv^as  a  distinguished 
man — Governor  of  Madras.  Such  posts  are  not  given  to  no- 
bodies. How  can  you  dare  to  speak  as  if  it  were  a  disgrace  to 
me  to  belong  to  him  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XXVni. 
"clubs,  diamonds,  hearts,  in  wild  disorder  seen." 

Lady  Kirkbank  had  considerable  difficulty  in  smoothing 
Lesbia's  ruffled  plumage.  She  did  all  in  her  power  to  undo  the 
effect  of  her  rash  words — declared  that  she  had  been  carried 
away  by  temper — she  had  spoken  she  knew  not  what — words  of 
no  meaning.  Of  course  Lesbia's  grandfather  had  been  a  great 
man — Governor  of  Madras ;  altogether  an  important  and  cele- 
brated person — and  Lady  Kirkbank  had  meant  nothing,  could 
have  meant  nothing  to  his  disparagement. 

"  My  dearest  girl,  I  was  beside  myself,  and  talked  sheer  non- 
sense," said  Georgie.  "  But  you  know  really  now,  dearest,  any 
woman  of  the  world  would  be  provoked  at  your  foolish  refusal 
of  that  dear  good  Smithson.  Only  think  of  that  too  lovely 
house  in  Park  Lane,  a  palace  in  the  style  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance— such  a  house  is  in  itself  equivalent  to  a  peerage — and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  Smithson  will  be  offered  a  peerage  before 
he  is  much  older.  I  have  heard  it  confidently  asserted  that 
when  the  present  ministry  retires  Smithson  will  be  made  a  peer. 
You  have  no  idea  what  a  useful  man  he  is,  or  what  stanch 
service  he  has  done  the  ministry  in  financial  matters.  And  then 
there  is  his  villa  at  Deauville — you  don't  know  Deauville — a 
positively  perfect  place,  the  villa,  I  mean,  built  by  the  Duke  de 
Morny  in  the  golden  days  of  the  Empire — and  another  at  Cowes, 
and  his  place  in  Berkshire,  a  manor,  my  love,  with  a  glorious 
old  manor-house  built  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth ;  and  he  has 
a  pied  a  terre  in  Paris,  in  the  Faubourg,  a  ground-floor 
furnished  in  the  Pompeiian  style,  half  a  dozen  rooms  opening 
one  out  of  the  other,  and  surrounding  a  small  garden,  w.th  a 
fountain  in  the  middle.     Some  of  the  greatest  people  in  Paris 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  237 

occupy  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  and  their  rooms  of  course 
are  splendid  ,  but  Smithson's  ground-floor  is  the  gem  of  the 
Faubourg.  However,  I  suppose  there  is  no  use  in  talking  any 
more  ;  and  there  is  the  gong  for  luncheon." 

"  I  would  rather  have  a  cup  of  tea  in  my  own  room,"  she 
said.  "  This  Smithson  business  has  given  me  an  abominable 
headache.' 

"  But  you  will  go  to  hear  Metzikoff  ?  " 

''No,  thanks.  You  detest  the  Duchess  of  Lostwithiel,  and 
you  don't  care  for  pianoforte  recitals.  Why  should  I  drag  you 
there  .?  " 

"  But,  my  dearest  Lesbia,  I  am  not  such  a  selfish  wretch  as  to 
keep  you  at  home,  when  I  know  that  you  are  passionately  fond 
of  good  music.  Forget  all  about  your  headache,  and  let  me  see 
how  that  lovely  little  Catharine  of  Arragon  bonnet  suits  you. 
I'm  so  glad  I  happened  to  see  it  in  Seraphme's  hands  yesterday, 
just  as  she  was  going  to  send  it  to  Lady  Fonvielle,  who  consid- 
ers herself  such  a  great  beauty,  and  always  wants  to  get  the 
primeurs  in  bonnets  and  things." 

•'Another  new  bonnet,"  replied  Lesbia.  'What  an  infinity 
of  things  I  seem  to  be  having  from  Seraphine.  I'm  afraid  I 
must  owe  her  a  good  deal  of  money." 

"  If  you  had  only  accepted  Mr.  Smithson,  it  would  not  mat- 
ter how  much  money  you  owed  people,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank. 
"  You  had  better  come  down  to  lunch.  A  glass  of  Heidseck 
will  bring  you  up  to  concert  pitch." 

Champagne  was  Lady  Kirkbank 's  idea  of  a  universal  panacea ; 
and  she  had  gradually  succeeded  in  teaching  Lesbia  to  believe 
in  the  sovereign  power  of  Heidseck  as  a  restorative  to  shattered 
nerves.  At  Fellside  Lesbia  had  drunk  only  water ;  but  then  at 
Fellside  she  had  never  known  that  feeling  of  exhaustion  and 
prostration  which  follows  days  and  nights  spent  in  society,  the 
wear  and  tear  of  a  mind  forever  on  the  alert,  and  brilliant  spirits 
which  are  as  often  forced  as  real.  For  her  chief  stimulant  Les- 
bia had  recourse  to  the  teapot :  but  there  were  occasions  when 
she  found  that  something  more  than  tea  was  needed  to  main- 
tain that  indispensable  vivacity  of  manner  which  Lady  Kirk- 
bank called  concert  pitch. 

To-day  she  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded.  She  went  down 
to  luncheon,  and  took  a  couple  of  glasses  of  dry  champagne 
v;ith  her  cutlet,  and,  thus  restored  was  equal  to  putting  ot;  the 
new  bonnet,  which  was  so  becoming  that  her  spirits  revived  as 
she  contemplated  the  effect  in  her  glass.  So  Lady  Kirkbank 
carried  her  off  to  the  musical  matinee,  beaming  and  radiant,  hav 


238  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

ing  forgotten  all  about  that  dark  hint  of  evil  glancing  at  the 
name  of  her  long  dead  grandfather. 

The  Duchess  was  not  in  view  when  Lady  Kirkbank  and  her 
protegee  arrived,  and  a  good  many  people  belonging  to  Georgie's 
own  particular  set  were  scattered  like  flowers  among  those  real 
music-lovers  who  had  come  solely  to  hear  the  new  pianisre. 
The  music-lovers  were  mostly  dowdy  in  their  attire,  and  seemed 
a  race  apart.  Among  them  were  several  young  women  of  the 
Blessed  Damozel  school,  who  wore  flowing  garments  of  sap  green 
or  ocher,  or  puffed  raiment  of  Venetian  red,  and  among  whom 
the  cart-wheel  hat,  the  Elizabethan  sleeve,  and  the  Toby  frill 
were  conspicuous. 

There  were  very  few  men  except  the  musical  critics  in  this 
select  assemblage,  and  Lesbia  began  to  think  that  it  was  going 
to  be  very  dreary.  She  had  lived  in  such  an  atmosphere  of 
masculine  adulation  while  under  Lady  Kirkbank's  wing  that  it 
was  a  new  thing  to  find  herself  in  a  room  where  there  was  none 
to  love  and  very  few  to  praise  her.  She  felt  out  in  the  cold,  as 
it  were.  Those  ungloved  critics,  with  their  shabby  coats  and 
dubious  shirts,  snuffy,  smoky,  everything  they  ought  not  to  be, 
seemed  to  her  a  race  of  barbarians. 

Finding  herself  thus  cold  and  lonely  in  the  midst  of  the  Duch- 
ess's splendor  of  peacock-blue  velvet  and  peacock  feather  dec- 
oration, Lesbia  was  almost  glad  when  in  the  middle  of  Madam 
Metzikoff's  opening  gondoUed — airy,  fairy  music,  executed  with 
surpassing  delicacy — Mr.  Smithson  crept  gently  into  the  fau- 
teuil  just  behind  hers  and  leant  over  the  back  of  the  chair  to 
whisper  an  inquiry  as  to  her  opinion  of  the  pianiste's  style. 

"  She  is  exquisite,"  Lesbia  murmured  softly,  but  the  whis- 
pered question  and  the  murmured  answer,  low  as  they  were,  pro- 
voked indignant  looks  from  a  brace  of  damsels  in  Venetian  red 
who  shook  their  Toby  frills  with  an  outraged  air. 

Lesbia  felt  that  Mr.  Smithson's  presence  was  hardly  correct. 
It  would  have  been  "  better  form  "  if  he  had  stayed  away ;  and 
yet  she  was  glad  to  have  him  here.  At  the  worst  he  was  some 
one — nay,  according  to  Lady  Kirkbank,  he  was  the  only  one 
amongst  all  her  admirers  whose  offer  was  worth  having.  All 
Lesbia's  other  conquests  had  counted  as  barren  honor ;  but  if 
she  could  have  brought  herself  to  accept  Mr.  Smithson  she 
would  have  secured  the  very  best  match  of  the  season. 

But  was  Lady  Kirkbank  sure  of  her  facts  or  truthful  in  her 
statement.?  Lady  Lesbia's  experience  of  her  chaperon's  some- 
what loose  notions  of  truth  and  exactitude  made  her  doubtful 
upon  this  point. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


239 


Be  this  as  it  might,  she  was  inclined  to  be  civil  to  Smithson, 
albeit  she  was  inwardly  surprised  and  offended  at  his  taking  her 
refusal  so  calml3^ 

"  You  see  I  am  determined  not  to  lose  the  privilege  of  your  so- 
ciety because  I  have  been  foolish  !  "  he  said  presently,  in  the 
pause  after  the  first  part  of  the  recital.  "  I  hope  you  will  con- 
sider me  as  much  your  friend  to-day  as  I  was  yesterday." 

"Quite  as  much,"  she  answered  sweetl}^,  and  then  they  talked 
of  Raff,  and  Brahm,  and  Hensel,  and  all  the  composers  about 
whom  it  is  the  correct  thing  to  discourse  nowadays. 

Before  they  left  Belgrave  Square  Lady  Kirkbank  had  offered 
Mr.  Smithson  Sir  George's  place  in  her  box  at  the  Gayety  that 
evening,  and  had  invited  him  to  supper  in  Arlington  Street 
afterward. 

It  was  Sarah  Bernhardt's  first  season  in  London — the  never-to- 
be-forgotten  season  of  the  Comedie  Francaise  in  all  its  force. 

"  I  should  love  of  all  things  to  be  there,"  said  Mr.  Smithson, 
meekly.  He  had  a  couple  of  stalls  in  the  third  row  for  the  whole 
of  the  season.  "  But  how  can  I  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  be  turn- 
ing Sir  George  out  of  doors  t  " 

"  Sir  George  can  never  sit  out  a  serious  play.  He  only  cares 
for  Chaumont  or  Judic.  The  'Demi-monde'  is  much  too  prosy 
for  him." 

"  The  '  Demi-monde  '  is  one  of  the  finest  plays  in  the  French 
language,"  said  Smithson.  "  You  know  it,  of  course,  Lady  Les- 
bia .?  " 

"  Alas !  no.  At  Fellside  I  -was  not  allowed  to  read  French 
plays  or  novels ;  or  only  a  novel  now  and  then,  which  my  grand- 
mother selected  for  me." 

"  And  now  you  read  everything,  I  suppose — including  Zola  ?  " 

"  The  books  are  lying  about,  and  1  clip  into  them  sometimes 
while  I  am  having  my  hair  brushed,"  answered  Lesbia,  lightly. 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  only  time  ladies  devote  to  literature  dur- 
ing the  season,"  said  Mr.  Smithson.  ''  Well,  I  envy  you  the 
delight  of  seeing  the  '  Demi-monde  '  without  knowing  what  it  is 
all  about  beforehand." 

"  I  dare  say  there  are  a  good  many  people  who  would  not  take 
their  girls  to  see  Dumas,''  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  "but  I  make 
a  point  of  letting  my  girls  see  everything.  It  widens  their  minds 
and  awakens  their  intelligence." 

"  And  does  away  with  a  good  many  silly  prejudices,"  replied 
Mr.  Smithson. 

Lady  Kirkbank  and  Lesbia  were  due  at  a  Kensington  garden- 
party  after  the  recital,  and  from  the   garden-party,  for  which 


240  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

an  hour  sufficed,  they  went  to  show  themselves  in  the  Park,  then 
back  to  ArUngton  Street  to  dress  for  the  play.  Then  a  hurried 
dinner,  and  they  were  in  their  places  at  the  theater  in  time  for 
the  rising  of  the  curtain. 

''  If  it  were  an  English  play  we  would  not  care  for  being 
punctual,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  "  but  I  should  hate  to  lose  a 
word  of  Dumas.     In  his  plays  every  speech  tells." 

There  were  the  royalties  present,  and  the  house  was  good ; 
but  not  so  full  as  it  had  been  on  some  other  nights,  for  the  Eng- 
lish public  had  been  told  that  Sarah  Bernhardt  was  the  person  to 
admire,  and  had  been  flocking  sheep-like  after  that  golden-haired 
enchantress,  whereby  many  of  these  sheep — fighting  greedily 
for  these  nights  and  ignoring  all  other  talent — lost  some  of  the 
finest  acting  on  the  French  stage,  notably  that  of  Croizette,  De- 
launay  and  Febvre,  in  this  very  '  Demi-monde  '  Lesbia,  who, 
in  spite  of  her  affectations,  was  still  fresh  enough  to  be  charmed 
with  fine  acting  and  a  powerful  play,  was  enthralled  by  the  stage, 
so  wrapt  in  the  scene  that  she  was  quite  unaware  of  her  brother's 
presence  in  a  stall  just  below  Lady  Kirkbank's  box.  He  too 
had  a  stall  at  the  Gayety.  He  had  come  in  very  late,  when  the 
play  was  half  over.  Lesbia  was  surprised  when  he  presented 
himself  at  the  door  of  the  box  after  the  fourth  act. 

Maulevrierand  his  sister  had  met  very  seldom  since  the  young 
lady's  debut.  The  young  earl  did  not  go  to  many  parties,  and 
the  society  he  cultivated  was  chiefiy  masculine ;  and  as  he 
neither  played  polo  nor  shot  pigeons  his  masculine  pursuits  did 
not  bring  him  in  his  sister's  way.  Lady  Kirkbank  had  asked 
him  to  her  house  with  that  wide  and  general  invitation  which  is 
so  easily  evaded.  He  had  promised  to  go,  and  he  had  not  gone. 
And  thus  Lesbia  and  he  had  pursued  their  several  ways,  only 
crossing  each  other's  paths  now  and  then  at  a  race  meeting  or 
in  a  theater. 

"  How  d'ye  do.  Lady  Kirkbank — how  d'ye  do,  Lesbia  ?  Just 
caught  sight  of  you  from  below  as  the  curtain  was  going  down," 
said  Maulevrier,  shaking  hands  with  the  ladies  and  saluting  Mr. 
Smithson  with  a  somewhat  supercilious  nod.  "  Rather  surprised 
to  see  you  and  Lesbia  here  to-night,  Lady  Kirkbank.  Isn't  the 
'  Demi-monde  '  rather  strong  meat  for  babes,  eh  t  Not  exactly 
the  play  one  would  take  a  young  lady  to  see." 

*'  Why  should  a  young  lady  be  forbidden  to  see  a  fine  play, 
because  there  are  some  hard  and  bitter  truths  in  it .''  "  asked 
Lady  Kirkbank.  "  Lesbia  sees  Madam  de  St.  Ange  and  all  her 
sisterhood  in  the  Park  and  about  London  every  day  of  her  life. 
Why  should  not  she  see  them  on  the  stage,   and   hear  their 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  241 

histoty,  and  understand  how  cruel  their  fate  is,  and  learn  to  pity 
them,  if  she  can.  1  really  think  this  play  is  a  lesson  in  Chris- 
tian charity,  and  I  should  like  to  see  that  Oliver  man  strangled, 
though  Delaunay  plays  the  part  divinely  !  What  a  voice  !  What 
a  manner  !  How  polished  !  How  perfect !  And  they  tell  me 
he  is  going  to  leave  the  stage  in  a  year  or  two.  What  will  the 
world  do  without  him  ?  " 

Maulevrier  stayed  in  the  box  only  a  short  time,  and  refused 
Lady  Kirkbank's  invitation  to  supper.  She  did  not  urge  the 
point,  as  she  had  surprised  one  or  two  very  unfriendly  glances 
at  Mr.  Smithson  in  Maulevrier's  honest  eyes.  She  did  not  want 
an  antagonistic  brother  to  interfere  with  her  plans.  She  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  "  run  "  Lesbia  according  to  her  own  ideas, 
and  any  counter  influence  might  be  fatal.  So  when  Maulevrier 
said  he  was  due  at  the  Marlborough  after  the  play  she  let  him  go. 
"  I  might  as  well  be  at  Fellside  and  you  in  London,  for  any- 
thing I  see  of  you,"  said  Lesbia. 

"  You  are  up  to  your  eyes  in  engagements,  and  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  want  to  see  any  more  of  me,"  Maulevrier  answered 
bluntly.  "  But  I'll  call  to-morrow  morning,  if  I  am  likely  to  find 
you  at  home.     I've  some  news  for  you." 

"  Then  I'll  stay  at  home  on  purpose  to  see  you.     News  is  al- 
ways delightful.     Is  it  good  news,  by  the  bye  ?  " 
"  Very  good  ;  at  least  I  think  so." 
"  What  is  it  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  a  long  story,  and  the  curtain  is  just  going  up. 
The  news  is  about  Mary." 

"  About  Mary ! "  exclaimed  Lesbia,  elevating  her  eyebrows. 
"  What  news  can  there  possibly  be  about  Mary  ? " 

"  Such  news  as  there  generally  is  about  every  nice  jolly  girl, 
at  least  once  in  her  life." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  she  is  engaged — to  a  curate  ?  " 
"  No,  not  to  a  curate.     There  goes  the  curtain.     *  I'll  see  you 
later,'  as  the  Yankee  President  used  to  say  when  people  bothered 
him,  and  he  didn't  like  to  say  no." 

Engaged  !  Mary  engaged  !  The  idea  of  such  an  altogether 
unexpected  event  distracted  Lesbia's  mind  all  through  the  last 
act  of  the  "  Demi-monde."  She  hardly  knew  what  the  actors  were 
talking  about.  Mary,  her  youngest  sister.  Mary,  a  good  look- 
ing girl  enough,  but  by  no  means  a  beauty,  and  with  manners 
utterly  unformed.  That  Mary  should  be  engaged  to  be  married, 
while  she,  Lesbia,  was  still  free  seemed  an  obvious  absurd- 
ity. 

And  vet  the  fact  was,  on  reflection,  easily  to  be  accounted  for. 
16"' 


242  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

These  unattractive  girls  are  generally  the  first  to  bind  themselves 
with  the  vows  of  betrothal.  Lady  Kirkbank  had  told  her  of 
many  such  cases.  The  poor  creatures  know  that  their  chances 
will  be  few,  and  therefore  gratefully  welcome  the  first  wooer. 

"  But  who  can  the  man  be  ?  "  thought  Lesbia.  "  Mary  has 
been  kept  as  secluded  as  a  cloistered  nun.  There  are  so  few 
families  we  have  ever  been  allowed  to  mix  with.  The  man  must 
be  a  curate,  who  has  taken  advantage  of  grandmother's  illness 
to  force  his  way  into  the  family  circle  at  Fellside — and  who  has 
made  love  to  Mary  in  some  of  her  lonely  rambles  over  the  hills, 
I  dare  say.  It  is  really  very  wiong  to  allow  a  girl  to  roam  about 
in  that  way." 

Sir  George  and  a  couple  of  his  horsey  friends  were  waiting 
for  supper  when  Lady  Kirkbank  and  her  party  arrived  in  Ar- 
lington Street.  The  dining-room  looked  a  picture  of  comfort. 
The  oval  table,  the  low  lamps,  the  cluster  of  candles  under  col- 
ored shades,  the  great  Oriental  bowl  of  wild  flowers,  eglantine, 
honeysuckle,  foxglove,  all  the  sweet  hedge  flowers  of  midsum- 
mer, made  a  central  mass  of  color  and  brightness  against  the 
subdued  and  even  somber  tones  of  walls  and  curtains.  The 
room  was  old,  the  furniture  old.  Nothing  had  been  altered  since 
the  time  of  Sir  George's  great-grandfather ;  and  the  whirligig  of 
time  had  just  now  made  the  old  things  precious.  Yes,  those 
chairs  and  tables  and  side-boards  and  book-cases  and  wine-cool- 
ers against  which  Georgie's  soul  had  revolted  in  the  early  years 
of  wedded  life  were  now  things  of  beauty,  and  Georgie's  friends 
envied  her  the  possession  of  indisputably  early  Georgian  furni- 
ture. 

The  adjoining  room  was  Sir  George's  snuggery ;  and  it  was 
here  that  the  cosey  little  round  games  after  supper  were  always 
played.  Sir  George  was  not  a  studious  person.  He  never  read 
and  he  never  wrote,  except  an  occasional  check  on  account,  for 
an  importunate  tradesman.  His  correspondence  was  conducted 
by  the  telegraph  ;  and  the  room,  therefore,  was  absorbed  neither 
by  books  nor  writing  desks.  It  was  furnished  solely  with  a  view 
to  comfort.  There  was  a  round  table  in  the  center,  under  a 
large  moderator  lamp,  which  gave  an  exceptionally  brilliant 
light.  A  divan  covered  with  dark  brown  velvet  ran  round  three 
sides  of  the  room.  A  few  choice  pieces  of  old  blue  Oriental 
ware  in  the  corners  enlivened  the  dark  brown  walls.  Three  or 
four  easy  chairs  stood  about  near  the  broad,  old-fashioned  fire- 
place, which  had  been  improved  with  a  modern  antique  brass 
grate  and  a  blue  and  white  tiled  hearth. 

There  isn't  a  room  in  my  house  that  looks  half  as  comfort 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  243 

able  as  this  den  of  yours,  George,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  as  he 
seated  himself  by  Lesbia's  side  at  the  card  table. 

They  had  agreed  to  be  partners.  "  Partners  at  cards,  even  if 
we  are  not  to  be  partners  for  life,"  Smithson  had  whispered,  ten- 
derly; and  Lesbia's  only  reply  had  been  a  modest  lowering  of 
lovely  eyelids,  and  a  faint,  faint  blush.  Lesbia's  blushes  were 
growing  fainter  every  day. 

The  game  weni  on  merrily  till  the  pearly  lights  of  dawn  began 
to  creep  through  the  chinks  of  Lady  Kirkbank's  yellow  curtain. 
Everybody  seemed  gay,  yet  everybody  could  not  be  winning. 
Fortune  had  not  smiled  on  Lesbia's  cards  or  those  of  her  part- 
ner. The  Smithson  and  Haselden  firm  had  come  to  grief.  Les- 
bia's little  ivory  purse  had  been  emptied  of  its  three  or  four  half 
sovereigns,  and  Mr.  Smithson  had  been  capitalizing  a  losing  con- 
cern for  the  last  two  hours.  And  the  play  had  been  fast  and  furi- 
ous, although  nominally  for  small  stakes. 

"  I  am  afraid  to  think  how  much  I  must  owe  you,"  said  Les- 
bia,  when  Mr.  Smithson  bade  her  good-night. 

"  Oh,  nothing  worth  speaking  of — sixteen  or  seventeen  pounds 
at  most." 

Lesbia  felt  cold  and  creepy,  and  hardly  knew  whether  it  was 
the  chill  of  new  born  day  or  the  sense  of  owing  money  to  Hor- 
ace Smithson.  Those  three  or  four  half  sovereigns  to-night  were 
the  end  of  her  last  remittance  from  Lady  Maulevrier.  She  had 
had  a  great  many  remittances  from  that  generous  grandmother 
and  the  money  had  all  gone,  somehow.  It  was  gone,  and  yet 
she  had  paid  for  hardly  anything.  She  had  accounts  wdth  all 
Lady  Kirkbank's  tradesmen.  The  money  had  melted  away, 
somehow — it  had  oozed  out  of  her  pockets — at  cards,  on  the 
race  course,  in  reckless  gifts  to  servants  and  people,  at  fancy 
fairs,  for  trifles  bought  here  and  there  by  the  wayside,  as  it  were, 
for  the  sake  of  buying.  If  she  had  been  suddenly  asked  for  an 
account  of  her  stewardship  she  could  not  have  told  what  she  had 
done  with  half  of  the  money.  And  now  she  must  ask  for  twen- 
ty pounds  more,  and  immediately,  to  pay  Mr   Smithson. 

She  went  up  to  her  room  in  the  clear  early  light  and  stood 
like  a  statue,  with  fixed,  thoughtful  eyes,  while  Kibble  took  off 
her  finery,  the  pretty  pale  yellow  gown  which  set  off  her  dark 
brown  hair,  her  violet  eyes.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
felt  the  keen  pang  of  anxiety  about  money  matters — the  neces- 
sity to  think  of  ways  and  means.  She  had  no  idea  how  much 
money  she  had  received  f-om  her  grandmother  since  she  had 
begun  her  career  in  Scotland  last  Autumn.  The  checks  had 
been  sent  her  as  she  asked  for  them  sometimes  even  before  she 


244  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

asked  for  them,  and  she  had  kept  no  account.  She  thought 
her  grandmother  was  so  rich  that  expenditure  could  not  matter. 
She  was  drawing  upon  an  inexhaustible  supply.  And  now  Lady 
Kirkbank  had  told  her  that  Lady  Maulevrier  was  not  rich,  as 
the  world  reckons  nowadays.  The  savings  of  a  dowager  count- 
ess even  in  forty  years  of  seclusion  could  be  but  a  small  fund  to 
draw  upon  for  the  expenses  of  life  at  high  pressure. 

"  The  sums  people  spend  nowadays  are  positively  appalling," 
said  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  A  man  with  five  or  six  thousand  a  year 
is  an  absolute  pauper.  I'm  sure  our  existence  is  only  genteel 
beggary,  and  yet  we  spend  over  ten  thousand." 

Enlightened  thus  by  the  lips  of  the  worldlywise,  Lesbia 
thought  ruefully  of  the  bills  which  her  grandmother  would  have 
to  pay  for  her  at  the  end  of  the  season,  bills  of  the  amount 
whereof  she  could  not  even  make  an  approximate  guess.  Ser- 
aphine's  charges  had  never  been  discussed  in  her  hearing — but 
Lady  Kirkbank  had  admitted  that  the  creature  was  dear. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

"swift  subtle  post,  carrier  of  grisly  care.'* 

Maulevrier  called  in  Arlington  Street  before  twelve  o'clock 
next  day,  and  found  Lesbia  just  returning  from  her  early  ride, 
looking  as  fresh  and  fair  as  if  there  had  been  no  such  thing  as 
Nap  or  late  hours  in  the  story  of  her  life.  She  was  reposing  in 
a  large  easy  chair  by  the  open  window,  in  habit  and  hat,  just 
as  she  had  come  from  the  Row,  where  she  had  been  laughing 
and  chatting  with  Mr.  Smithson,  who  jogged  demurely  by  her 
side  on  his  short-legged  hunter,  dropping  out  envenomed  little 
jokes  about  the  passers  by.  People  who  saw  him  riding  by  her 
side  upon  this  particular  morning  fancied  there  was  something 
more  than  usual  in  the  gentleman's  manner,  and  made  up 
their  minds  that  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden  was  to  be  mistress  of 
the  fine  house  in  Park  Lane.  Mr.  Smithson  had  fluttered  and 
fluttered  for  the  last  five  seasons ;  but  this  time  the  flutterer 
was  caught. 

In  her  newly  awakened  anxiety  about  money  matters,  Lesbia 
had  forgotten  Mary's  engagement,  but  the  sight  of  Maulevrier 
recalled  the  fact. 

"  Come  over  here  and  sit  down,"  she  said,   "  and  tell  me 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  245 

about  Mary's  engagement.      I  am  expiring  with  curiosity.     The 
thing  is  too  absurd." 

"  Why  absurd  ?  "  asked  Maulevrier,  sitting  where  she  bade 
him,  and  studiously  perusing  the  name  in  his  hat,  as  if  it  were 
a  revelation. 

"  Oh,  for  a  thousand  reasons,"  answered  Lesbia,  smiting  the 
flowers  in  the  balcony  with  her  light  little  whip.  "  First  and 
foremost  it  is  absurd  to  think  of  any  one  so  buried  alive  as 
poor  Mary  is  finding  an  admirer,  and  secondly — well — I  don't 
want  to  be  rude  to  my  own  sister — but  Mary  is  not  particularly 
attractive." 

"  Mary  is  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world." 

"  Very  likely.  I  only  said  that  she  is  not  particularly  attract- 
ive." 

"  And  do  you  think  there  is  no  attraction  in  goodness,  in 
freshness  and'  innocence,  candor,  generosity — ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I  think  that  if  Mary's  nose  had  been  a 
thought  longer,  and  if  she  had  kept  her  skin  free  from  freckles 
she  would  have  been  almost  pretty." 

"  Do  you  really  t  Luckily  for  Mary  the  man  who  is  going  to 
marry  her  thinks  her  lovely." 

"  I  suppose  he  likes  freckles.  I  once  heard  a  man  say  he 
did.  He  said  they  were  so  original — so  much  character  about 
them.     And  pray  who  is  the  man  ?  " 

"  Your  old  adorer,  and  my  dear  friend,  John  Hammond."  ^ 

Lesbia  turned  pale  as  death — pale  with  rage  and  mortification. 
It  was  not  jealousy,  this  pang  which  rent  her  shallow  soul. 
She  had  ceased  to  care  for  John  Hammond.  The  whirlpool  of 
society  had  spun  that  first  fancy  out  of  her  giddy  brain.  But 
that  a  man  who  had  loved  the  highest,  who  had  worshiped 
her,  the  peerless,  the  beautiful,  should  calmly  turn  his  affections 
to  her  youngest  sister,  was  to  the  last  degree  exasperating. 

"Your  friend  Mr.  Hammond  must  be  a  fickle  fool,"  she 
exclaimed,  "  who  does  not  know  his  own  mind  from  day  to 
dav." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  more  than  a  day  after  you  rejected  him  that 
he  engaged  himself  to  Molly.  It  was  all  my  doing,  and  I  am 
proud  of  my  work.  I  took  the  poor  fellow  back  to  Fellside 
last  March,  bruised  and  broken  by  your  cruel  treatment,  heart- 
sore  and  depressed,  and  such  a  gloomy  companion.  I  gave  him 
over  to  Molly,  and  Molly  cured  him — unconsciously,  innocently, 
she  won  that  noble  heart.  Ah,  Lesbia,  you  don't  know  what  a 
heart  it  is  which  you  so  nearly  broke." 

"  Girls  in  our  rank  of  life  can't  afford  to  marry  noble  hearts, 


246  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

said  Lesbia  scornfully.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Lady 
Maulevrier  consented  to  the  engagement  ?  " 

"  She  cut  up  rather  rough  at  first ;  but  Molly  held  her  own 
like  a  young  lioness— and  the  grandmother  gave  way.  You  see 
she  has  a  fixed  idea  that  Molly  is  a  very  second-rate  sort  of 
person  compared  with  you,  and  that  a  husband  who  was  not 
nearly  good  enough  for  you  might  pass  muster  for  Molly ;  and 
so  she  gave  way,  and  there  isn't  a  happier  young  woman  in  the 
three  kingdoms  than  Mary  Haselden." 

"What  are  they  to  live  upon.?"  asked  Lesbia,  with  an  in- 
credulous air. 

"  Mary  will  have  her  five  hundred  a  year.  And  Hammond  is 
a  very  clever  fellow.  You  may  be  sure  he  will  make  his  mark 
in  the  world." 

"  And  how  are  they  to  live  while  he  is  making  his  mark  ? 
Five  hundred  a  year  won't  do  more  than  buy  Mary's  frocks,  if 
she  goes  into  society." 

"  Perhaps  they  will  live  without  society." 

"  In  some  horrid  little  hovel  in  one  of  those  narrow  streets  off 
Ecclestone  Square,"  suggested  Lesbia  shudderingly.  "  It  is  too 
dreadful  to  think  of,  a  young  woman  dooming  herself  to  life- 
long penury,  just  because  she  is  so  foolish  as  to  fall  in 
love." 

"  Your  days  for  falling  in  love  are  over,  I  suppose,  Lesbia," 
said  Maulevrier,  contemplating  his  sister  with  keen  scrutiny. 

The  beautiful  face,  so  perfect  in  line  and  color,  curiously  re- 
called that  other  face  at  Fellside  ;  the  Dowager's  face,  with  its 
look  of  marble  coldness,  and  the  half-expressed  pain  under  that 
outward  calm.  Here  was  the  face  of  one  who  had  not  yet 
known  pain  or  passion.  Here  was  the  cold  perfection  of  beauty 
with  unawakened  heart. 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  am  too  busy  to  think  of  such  things.'' 

"  You  have  done  with  love,  and  you  have  begun  to  think  of 
marriage,  of  establishing  yourself  properly.  People  tell  me  you 
are  going  to  marry  Mr.  Smithson." 

"  People  tell  you  more  about  me  than  I  know  about  myself." 

"  Come  now,  Lesbia,  I  have  a  right  to  know  the  truth  upon 
this  point.  Your  brother — your  only  brother — should  be  the 
first  person  to  be  told." 

"When  I  am  engaged,  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  be  the  first 
person,  or  the  second  person,"  answered  Lesbia  lightly.  "  Lady 
Kirkbank,  living  on  the  premises,  is  likely  to  be  the  first." 

"  Then  you  are  not  engaged  to  Smithson  t " 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  just  now  ?     Mr.  Smithson  did  me  the 


PHAiVTOM  FORTUNE. 


247 


honor  to  make  me  an  offer  yesterday,  at  about  this  hour,  and  I 
did  myself  the  honor  to  reject  him." 

"  And  yet  you  were  whispering  together  in  the  box  last  night, 
and  you  were  riding  in  the  Row  with  him  this  morning.  I  just 
met  a  fellow  who  saw  you  together.  Do  you  think  it  is  right, 
Lesbia,  to  play  fast  and  loose  with  the  man — to  encourage  him, 
if  you  don't  mean  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  accuse  me  of  encouraging  a  person  whom  I 
flatly  refused  yesterday  morning.  If  Mr.  Smithson  likes  my  so- 
ciety as  a  friend,  must  I  needs  deny  him  my  friendship — ask 
Lady  Kirkbank  to  shut  her  door  against  him  .?  Mr,  Smithson  is 
very  pleasant  as  an  acquaintance,  and,  although  I  don't  want 
to  marry  him,  there's  no  reason  I  should  snub  him." 

"  Smithson  is  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with.  You  will  find 
yourself  entangled  in  a  web  which  you  won't  easily  break 
through." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  webs.  By  the  bye,  is  it  true  that  Mr. 
Smithson  is  likely  to  get  a  peerage  .?  " 

"  I  have  heard  people  say  as  much.  Smithson  has  spent  no 
end  of  money  on  electioneering  and  is  a  power  in  the  House, 
though  he  very  rarely  speaks.  He  is  supposed  to  be  great  on 
financial  questions,  and  comes  out  tremendously  on  some  co- 
lonial railway  or  drainage  scheme,  about  which  the  House  in 
general  is  in  profound  ignorance.  On  those  occasions  Smithson 
scores  high  and  is  talked  of  as  a  useful  man.  And  a  man  with 
immense  wealth  has  always  chances.  No  doubt,  if  you  were  to 
marry  him,  the  peerage  would  be  easily  managed.  Smithson's 
mone3%  backed  by  the  Maulevrier  influence,  would  go  a  long 
way.  My  grandmother  would  move  heaven  and  earth  in  a  case 
of  that  kind.     You  had  better  take  pity  on  Smithson." 

Lesbia  laughed.  That  idea  of  a  possible  peerage  elevated 
Smithson  in  her  eyes.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  political  career, 
as  she  lived  in  a  set  which  ignored  politics  altogether.  Mr. 
Smithson  had  never  talked  to  her  of  his  parliamentary  duties, 
and  it  was  a  new  thing  for  her  to  hear  that  he  had  some  kind  of 
influence  in  public  affairs. 

"  Suppose  I  were  inclined  to  accept  him,  would  you  like  him 
as  a  brother-in-law  ?  "  she  asked,  lightly.  "  I  thought  from  your 
manner  last  night  that  you  rather  disliked  him." 

''  I  don't  quite  like  him  or  any  of  his  breed,  the  newly  rich 
who  go  about  in  society  swelling  with  the  sense  of  their  own  im- 
portance, perspiring  gold,  as  it  were.  And  one  has  always  a 
faint  suspicion  of  men  who  have  got  rich  very  quickly,  an  idea 
that  there  must  be  some  kind  of  juggling.     Not  in  the  case  of  a 


248  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

great  contractor,  perhaps,  who  can  point  to  a  viaduct  or  a  tunnel 
and  say,  '  I  built  that,  and  that,  and  that.  These  are  the 
sources  of  my  wealth.'  But  a  man  who  gets  enormously  rich 
by  mere  ciphering  !  Where  can  his  money  come  from,  except 
out  of  other  people's  pockets .?  I  know  nothing  against  your 
Mr.  Smithson,  but  I  always  suspect  that  class  of  men,"  con- 
cluded Maulevrier,  shaking  his  head  significantly. 

Lesbia  was  not  much  influenced  by  her  brother's  notions. 
She  had  never  been  taught  to  think  him  an  oracle.  On  the  con- 
trary she  had  been  told  that  his  life  hitherto  had  been  all  fool- 
ishness. 

"  When  are  Mary  and  Mr.  Hammond  to  be  married  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Grandmother  says  they  must  wait  a  year.  Mary  is  much 
too  young — and  so  on,  and  so  forth.  But  I  see  no  reason  for 
waiting." 

^'  Surely  there  are  reasons — financial  reasons.  Mr.  Hammond 
cannot  be  in  a  position  to  begin  housekeeping." 

''Oh,  they  will  risk  all  that.  Molly  is  a  daring  girl.  He 
proposed  to  her  on  the  top  of  Helvellyn  in  a  storm  of  wind  and 
rain." 

"  And  she  never  wrote  me  a  word  about  it.  How  very  un- 
sisterly  !  " 

"  She  is  as  wild  as  a  hawk,  and  I  dare  say  she  was  too  shy  to 
tell  you  anything  about  it." 

"  Pray  when  did  it  all  occur  ?  " 

"Just  before  I  came  to  London."  ' 

"  Two  months  ago.  How  absurd  for  me  to  be  in  ignorance 
all  this  time  !  Well,  I  hope  Mary  will  be  sensible  and  not 
marry  him  till  he  is  able  to  give  her  a  decent  home.  It  would  be 
so  dreadful  to  have  a  sister  muddling  in  poverty  and  clamoring 
for  one's  cast-off  gowns." 

Maulevrier  laughed  at  this  gloomy  suggestion. 

"  It  is  not  easy  to  foretell  the  future,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  I 
may  venture  to  promise  that  Molly  will  never  wear  your  cast- 
off  gowns." 

"  Oh,  you  think  she  would  be  too  proud.  You  don't  know, 
perhaps,  how  poverty — genteel  poverty — lowers  one's  pride.  I 
have  heard  stories  from  Lady  Kirkbank  that  would  make  your 
hair  stand  on  end.     I  am  beginning  to  know  the  world." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that.  If  you  are  to  live  in  the  world  it  is  bet- 
ter that  you  should  know  what  it  is  made  of.  But  if  I  had  a 
voice  or  a  choice  in  the  matter  I  had  rather  my  sisters  stayed 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  249 

at  Grasmere  and  remained  ignorant  of  the  world  and  all  its 
ways." 

"  While  you  enjoy  your  life  in  London.  That  is  just  like  the 
selfishness  of  a  man.  Under  the  pretense  of  keeping  his  sisters 
or  his  wife  secure  from  all  possible  contact  with  evil,  he  buries 
them  alive  in  a  country  house,  while  he  has  all  the  wickedness 
for  his  own  share  in  London.  Oh,  I  am  beginning  to  under- 
stand the  creatures." 

^'  I  am  afraid  you  are  beginning  to  be  wise.  Remember  that 
knowledge  of  evil  was  the  prelude  to  the  fall.  Well,  good- 
by." 

"  Won't  you  stay  to  lunch  ? " 

"  No,  thanks,  I  never  lunch — frightful  waste  of  time.  I  shall 
drop  in  at  the  White  Elephant  and  take  a  cup  of  tea  later  on." 

The  White  Elephant  was  a  new  club  in  Piccadilly  which  Mau- 
levrier  and  some  of  his  friends  affected. 

Lesbia  went  toward  the  drawing-room  door  whh  her  brother, 
and  just  as  he  reached  the  door  she  laid  her  hand  caressingly 
upon  his  shoulder.  He  turned  and  stared  at  her,  somewhat 
surprised,  for  he  and  she  had  never  been  given  to  demonstra- 
tions of  affection. 

"  Maulevrier,  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  blushing  a  little,  for  the  thing  she  was  going  to  ask  was 
a  new  thing  for  her  to  ask  and  she  had  a  deep  sense  of  shame 
in  making  her  demand.  "  I— I  lost  money  at  Nap  last  night- 
only  seventeen  pounds.  Mr.  Smithson  and  I  were  partners  and 
he  paid  my  losses.     I  want  to  pay  him  immediately,  and — " 

"And  you  are  too  hard  up  to  do  it.  I'll  write  you  a  check 
this  instant,"  said  Maulevrier,  good-naturedly,  but  while  he  was 
writing  the  check  he  took  occasion  to  remonstrate  with  Lesbia 
on  the  foolishness  of  card-playing. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  do  as  Lady  Kirkbank  does,"  she  answered 
feebly.  "  If  I  were  to  refuse  to  play  it  would  be  a  kind  of  re- 
proach to  her." 

"  I  don't  think  that  would  kill  Lady  Kirkbank,"  replied  Maule- 
vrier, wdth  a  touch  of  scorn.  "  She  has  had  to  endure  a  good 
many  implied  reproaches  in  her  day,  and  they  don't  seem  to 
have"  hurt  her  very  much.  I  wish  to  heaven  my  grandmother 
had  chosen  any  one  else  in  London  for  your  chaperon." 

"  I'm  afraid  Lady  Kirkbank's  is  rather  a  rowdy  set,"  answered 
Lesbia,  coolly;  "  and  I  sometimes  feel  as  if  I  had  thrown  my- 
self away.  We  go  almost  everywhere — at  least  there  are  only 
just  a  few  houses  to  which  we  are  not  asked.  But  those  few 
make  all  the  difference.     It  is  so  humiUating  to  feel  that  one  is 


250  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

not  in  the  best  society.  However,  Lady  Kirkbank  is  a  dear 
old  tiling,  and  I  am  not  going  to  grumble  about  her." 

"  I've  made  the  check  for  five  and  twenty.  You  can  cash 
it  at  your  milliner's,"  said  Maulevrier.  "  I  should  not  like  Smith- 
son  to  know  that  you  had  been  obliged  to  ask  me  for  the 
money." 

"  Apropos  to  Mr.  Smithson,  do  you  know  if  he  is  in  quite  the 
best  society  ?  "  asked  Lesbia, 

•'  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  quite  the  best.  A  man' of 
Smithson's  wealth  can  generally  poke  his  nose  in  anywhere,  if 
he  knows  how  to  behave  himself.  But  of  course  there  ^  are 
people  with  whom  money  and  fine  houses  have  no  weight. 
The  Liberals  are  all  civil  to  Smithson  because  he  comes  down 
handsomely  at  general  elections,  and  is  useful  to  them  in  other 
ways.  I  believe  that  Smithson's  wife,  if  she  were  a  thoroughbred 
one,  could  go  into  any  society  she  liked  and  make  her  house 
one  of  the  most  popular  in  I^ondon.  Perhaps  that  is  what  you 
really  wanted  to  ask." 

"No,  it  wasn't,"  answered  Lesbia,  carelessly.  "I  was  only 
talking  for  the  sake  of  talking.  A  thousand  thanks  for  the 
check,  you  best  of  brothers." 

"  It  is  not  worth  talking  about ;  but,  Lesbia,  don't  play  cards 
any  more.     Believe  me,  it  is  not  good  form." 

"  Well,  I'll  try  to  keep  out  of  it  in  the  future.  It  is  horrid  to 
see  one's  sovereigns  melting  away,  but  there's  a  delightful  excite- 
ment in  winning." 

''  No  doubt,"  answered  Maulevrier,  w^ith  a  remorseful  sigh. 

He  spoke  as  a  reformed  plunger,  and  with  many  a  bitter  ex- 
perience of  the  race-course  and  the  card-room.  Even  now, 
though  he  had  steadied  himself  wonderfully,  he  could  not  get 
on  without  a  little  mild  gambling — half-crown  pool,  whist  with 
half-guinea  points — but  when  he  condescended  to  such  small 
stakes  he  felt  that  he  had  settled  down  into  a  respectable 
middle-aged  player,  and  had  a  right  to  rebuke  the  follies  of 
youth. 

Lesbia  flew  to  the  piano  and  sang  one  of  her  little  German 
ballads  directlv  Maulevrier  was  gone.  She  felt  as  if  a  burden 
had  been  lifted  from  her  soul,  now  that  she  was  able  to  pay  Mr. 
Smithson  without  waiting  to  ask  Lady  Maulevrier  for  the 
money.  And,  as  she  sang,  she  meditated  upon  Mauleyrier's 
remarks  about  Smithson.  He  knew  nothing  to  the  man's  dis- 
credit, except  that  he  had  grown  rich  in  a  short  space  of  time. 
Surely  no  man  ought  to  be  blamed  for  that  ?  And  he  thought 
that  Mr.  Smithson's  wife  might  make  her  house  the  most  popular 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  251 

in  London.  Lesbia,  in  her  mind's  eye,  beheld  an  imaginary 
Mrs.  Smithson  giving  dances  in  that  magnificent  mansion,  en- 
tertaining royal  personages.  And  the  doorways  would  be  fes- 
tooned with  roses,  as  she  had  seen  them  the  other  night  at  a 
ball  in  Grosvenor  Square ;  but  the  house  in  Grosvenor  Square 
was  a  hovel  compared  with  the  Smithsonian  palace. 

Lesbia  was  beginning  to  be  a  little  tired  of  Lady  Kirkbank 
and  her  surroundings.  Life  taken  prestissimo  is  apt  to  pall. 
Lesbia  sighed  as  she  finished  her  last  song.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  look  upon  her  existence  as  a  problem  which  had  been 
given  to  her  to  solve,  and  the  solution  just  at  present  was  all 
dark. 

As  she  rose  from  the  piano  a  footman  came  in  with  two  let- 
ters on  a  salver;  bulky  letters,  such  packages  as  Lesbia  had. 
never  seen  before.  She  wondered  what  they  could  be.  She 
opened  the  thick  envelope  first.  It  was  Seraphine's  bill — such 
a  bill,  page  after  page  on  creamy  Bath  post,  written  in  an  ele- 
gant Italian  hand  by  one  of  Seraphine's  young  women. 

Lesbia  looked  at  it  aghast  with  horror.  The  total  at  the  foot 
of  the  first  page  was  apalling,  ever  so  much  more  than  she  could 
have  supposed  the  whole  amount  of  her  indebtedness;  but  the 
total  went  on  increasing  at  the  foot  of  every  page,  until  at  sight 
of  the  final  figures  Lesbia  gave  a  wild  shriek,  like  a  wretched 
creature  who  has  received  a  telegram  announcing  bitter  loss. 

The  final  total  was  twelve  hundred  and  nmety-three  pounds 
seventeen  and  sixpence. 

Thirteen  hundred  pounds  for  clothes  in  eight  weeks. 

No,  the  thing  was  a  cheat,  a  mistake.  They  had  sent  her 
somebody  else's  bill.     She  had  not  had  half  these  things. 

She  read  the  first  page,  her  heart  beating  violently  as  she 
pored  over  the  figures,  her  eyes  dim  and  clouded  with  the  trou- 
ble of  her  brain. 

Yes,  there  was  her  court  dress.  The  description  was  too  mi- 
nute to  be  mistaken,  and  the  court  dress,  with  feathers,  and 
shoes,  and  gloves,  and  fan,  came  to  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds. 
Then  followed  innumerable  items.  The  very  simplest  of  her 
gowns  cost  five  and  twentv  pounds — frocks  about  which  Sera- 
phine  had  talked  so  carelessly,  as  if  two  or  three  more  or  less 
could  make  no  difference.  Bonnets  and  hats,  at  five  or  seven 
guineas  apiece,  swelled  the  account.  Parasols  and  fans  were 
of  fabulous  price,  as  it  seemed  to  Lesbia,  and  the  shoes  and 
stockings  to  match  her  various  gowns  occurred  again  and  again 
between  the  more  important  items  like  the  refrain  of  an  old  bal- 
lad.    All  the  useless  and  unnecessary  things  which  she  had  or- 


252  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

dered  because  she  thought  them  prett)^  or  because  she  was  told 
they  were  fashionable,  rose  up  against  her  in  the  figures  of  the 
bill  like  the  record  of  forgotten  sins  at  the  day  of  judgment. 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  pallid  with  consternation,  and  sat  with 
the  bill  in  her  lap,  turning  the  pages  listlessly  and  staring  at 
the  figures. 

"  It  cannot  be  so  much,"  she  cried  to  herself.  "  It  must  be 
added  up  wrong  ;  "  and  then  she  feebly  tried  to  cast  up  a  col- 
umn, but  arithmetic  not  being  one  of  those  accomplishments  which 
Lady  Maulevrier  deemed  necessary  to  a  patrician  beauty's  suc- 
cess in  life.  Lesbia's  education  had  been  somewhat  neglected 
upon  this  point,  and  she  flung  the  bill  from  her  in  a  rage,  una- 
ble to  hold  the  figures  in  her  brain. 

She  opened  the  second  envelope — her  jeweler's  account. 

At  the  very  first  item  she  gave  another  scream,  fainter  than 
the  first,  for  her  mind  was  getting  hardened  against  such  shocks. 

"  The  resetting  a  suite  of  amethysts  with  forty-four  finest  Bra- 
zilian brilliants,  three  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds." 

Then  followed  the  trifles  she  had  bought  at  different  visits, 
casual  purchases,  bought  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  These 
swelled  the  account  to  a  little  over  eight  hundred  pounds. 
Lesbia  sat  like  a  statue,  numbed  by  despair,  appalled  at  the 
idea  of  owing  two  thousand  pounds. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
"roses  choked  among  thorns  and  thistles." 

Lady  Lesbia  eat  no  luncheon  that  day.  She  went  to  her  own 
room  and  had  a  cup  of  tea,  to  steady  her  ner\^es,  and  sent  to 
ask  Lady  Kirkbank  to  go  to  her  as  soon  as  she  had  finished 
luncheon.  Lady  Kirkbank's  luncheon  was  a  serious  business, 
a  substantial  leisurely  meal  with  which  she  fortified  herself  for 
the  day's  work.  It  enabled  her  to  endure  all  the  fatigues  of 
visits  and  park,  and  to  be  airily  indifferent  to  the  charms  of 
dinner,  for  Lady  Kirkbank  was  not  one  of  those  matrons  who 
with  advanced  years  take  to  gourmandize  as  a  kind  of  fine  art. 
She  gave  good  dinners,  because  she  knew  people  would  not 
come  to  Arlington  Street  to  eat  bad  ones ;  but  she  was  not  a 
person  who  lived  only  to  dine.  At  luncheon  she  gave  her 
healthy  appetite  full  scope,  and  eat  like  a  plowman. 

She' found  Lesbia  in  her  white  muslin  dressing-gown,  with 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  253 

cheeks  as  pale  as  the  gown  she  wore.  She  was  sitting  in  a  low 
chair,  with  a  low  tea  table  at  her  side,  and  the  two  bills  were  in 
the  trav  with  the  tea  things. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  how  much  I  owe  Seraphine  and  Cabu- 
chon  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  despairingly  at  Lady  Kirkbank. 

"  What,  have  they  sent  in  their  bills  already  ?  " 

"  Already  !  I  wish  they  had  sent  them  before.  I  should 
have  known  how  deeply  I  was  getting  into  debt." 

"  Are  they  very  heavy  ?  " 

"  They  are  dreadful.  I  owe  over  two  thousand  pounds.  How 
can  I  tell  Lady  Maulevrier  that  ?  Two  thousand  pounds  !  It 
is  awful ! " 

"  There  are  women  in  London  who  would  think  very  little  of 
owing  twice  as  much,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  in  a  comfortable 
tone,  though  the  fact,  seriously  considered,  could  hardly  afford 
comfort.  "Your  grandmother  said  you  were  to  have  carte 
blanche.  She  may  think  that  you  have  been  just  a  little  ex- 
travagant;  but  she  can  hardly  be  angry  with  you  for  having 
taken  her  at  her  word.  Two  thousand  pounds  1  Yes,  it  cer- 
tainly is  rather  stiff." 

"  Seraphine  is  a  cheat,"  exclaimed  Lesbia  angrily.  "  Her 
prices  are  positively  exorbitant." 

"  My  dear  child,  you  must  not  say  that.  Seraphine  is  posi- 
tively moderate  in  comparison  with  the  new  people." 

"And  Mr.  Cabuchon  too.  The  idea  of  his  charging  me  three 
hundred  guineas  for  resetting  those  stupid  old  amethysts." 

"  My  dear,  you  would  have  diamonds  mixed  with  them,"  said 
Lady  Kirkbank  reproachfully. 

Lesbia  turned  away  her  head  with  an  impatient  sigh.  She 
remembered  perfectly  that  it  was  Lady  Kirkbank  who  had  per- 
suaded her  to  order  the  diamond  setting ;  but  there  was  no  use 
in  talking  about  it  now.  The  thing  was  done.  She  was  two 
thousand  pounds  in  debt — two  thousand  pounds  to  these  two 
people  only — and  there  were  ever  so  many  shops  at  which  she 
had  accounts,  glovers,  bootmakers,  habit-makers,  the  tailor  who 
made  her  Newmarket  coats  and  cloth  gowns,  the  stationer  who 
supplied  her  with  notepaper  of  every  variety,  monogrammed, 
floral,  sporting,  illuminated  with  this  or  that  device,  the  follies  of 
the  passing  hour,  hatched  by  invention  in  a  garret,  pandering 
to  the  vanities  of  the  idle. 

"  I  must  write  to  my  grandmother  by  this  afternoon's  post," 
said  Lesbia,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  Impossible.  We  have  to  be  at  the  Ranelagh  by  four  o'clock. 
Smithson  and  some  other  men  are  to  meet  us  there.     I  have 


254 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


promised  to  drive  Mrs.  Mostyn  down  with  us.  You  had  better 
begin  to  dress." 

"  But  I  ought  to  write  to-day.  I  had  better  ask  for  this 
money  at  once,  and  have  done  with  it.  Two  thousand  pounds  ! 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  a  thief.  You  say  my  grandmother  is  not  a 
rich  woman  ?  " 

"  Not  rich,  as  the  world  goes  nowadays.  Nobody  is  rich  now, 
except  your  commercial  magnates,  like  Smithson.  Great  peers, 
unless  their  money  is  in  London  ground  rents,  are  great  paupers. 
To  own  land  is  to  be  destitute.  I  don't  suppose  two  thousand 
pounds  will  break  your  grandmother's  bank ;  but  of  course  it  is 
a  large  sum  to  ask  for  at  the  end  of  two  months  ;  especially  as 
she  sent  you  a  good  deal  of  money  while  we  were  at  Cannes. 
If  you  were  engaged  now — about  to  make  a  really  good  match 
— you  could  ask  for  the  money  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  but,  as  it  is, 
although  you  have  been  tremendously  admired,  from  a  practical 
point  of  view  you  are  a  failure." 

A  failure.  It  was  a  hard  word,  but  Lesbia  felt  it  was  true. 
She,  the  reigning  beauty,  the  cynosure  of  every  eye,  had  made 
no  conquest  worth  talking  about,  except  Mr.  Smithson. 

"  Don't  tell  your  grandmother  an3^thing  about  the  bills  for  a 
week  or  two,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  soothingly.  "  The  creatures 
can  wait  for  their  money.     Give  yourself  time  to  think." 

"  I  will,"  answered  Lesbia,  dolefully. 

"  And  now  make  haste  and  get  ready  for  the  Ranelagh.  My 
love,  your  eyes  are  dreadfully  heavy.  You  must  use  a  little 
belladonna.     I'll  send  Rilboche  to  you." 

And  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Lesbia,  too  depressed  to 
argue  the  point,  consented  to  have  her  eyes  doctered  by  Ril- 
boche. 

She  was  gay  enough  at  the  Ranelagh,  and  looked  her  loveliest 
at  a  dinner  party  that  evening,  and  went  to  three  parties  after 
the  dinner,  and  went  home  in  the  faint  light  of  early  morning, 
after  sitting  out  a  late  waltz  in  a  balcony  with  Mr.  Smithson,  a 
balcony  built  round  with  hot-house  flowers  which  were  beginning 
to  droop  a  little  in  the  chilly  morning  air,  just  as  beauty  drooped 
under  the  searching  eye  of  day. 

Lesbia  put  the  bills  in  her  desk,  and  gave  herself  time  to 
think,  as  Lady  Kirkbank  advised  her.  But  the  thinking  process 
resulted  in  very  little  good.  All  the  thought  of  which  she  was 
capable  would  not  reduce  the  totals  of  thqse  two  dreadful  ac- 
counts. And  every  day  brought  some  fresh  bill.  The  stationer, 
the  bootmaker,  the  glover,  the  perfumer,  people  who  had  courted 
Lady  Lesbia's  custom  with  an  air  which  implied  that  the  honor 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  255 

of  serving  fashionable  beauty  was  the  first  consideration  and 
the  question  of  payment  quite  a  minor  point — these  now  began 
to  ask  for  their  money  in  the  most  prosaic  way.  Every  straw 
added  to  Lesbia's  burden ;  and  her  heart  grew  heavier  with 
every  post. 

"  One  can  see  the  season  is  waning  when  these  people  begin 
to  pester  with  their  accounts,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  who  always 
talked  of  tradesmen  as  if  they  were  her  natural  enemies. 

Lesbia  accepted  this  explanation  of  the  avalanche  of  bills,  and 
never  suspected  Lady  Kirkbank's  influence  in  the  matter.  It 
happened,  however,  that  the  chaperon,  having  her  own  reasons 
for  wishing  to  bring  Mr.  Smithson's  suit  to  a  successful  issue, 
had  told  Seraphine  and  the  other  people  to  send  in  their  bills 
immediately.  Lady  Lesbia  would  be  leaving  London  in  a  week 
or  two,  she  informed  these  purveyors,  and  would  like  to  settle 
everything  before  she  went  away. 

Mr.  Smith  son  appeared  in  Arlington  Street  almost  every  day, 
and  was  full  of  schemes  for  new  pleasures — or  pleasures  as 
nearly  new  as  the  world  of  fortune  can  afford.  He  was  partic- 
ularly desirous  that  Sir  George  and  Lady  Kirkbank,  with  Lady 
Lesbia,  should  stay  at  his  Berkshire  place  during  the  Henley 
week.  He  had  a  large  steam  launch,  and  the  regatta  was  a 
kind  of  carnival  for  his  intimate  friends,  who  were  not  too 
proud  to  riot  and  batten  upon  the  Parvenu's  luxurious  hospital- 
ity, albeit  they  were  apt  to  talk  somewhat  slightingly  of  his  an- 
tecedents. 

Lady  Kirkbank  felt  that  this  invitation  was  a  turning  point, 
and  that  if  Lesiba  went  to  stay  at  Rood  Hall  her  acceptance  of 
Mr.  Smithson  was  a  certainty.  She  would  see  him  at  his  place 
in  Berkshire  in  the  most  flattering  aspect — his  surroundings  as 
the  lord  of  the  manor,  the  owner  of  one  of  the  finest  old  places 
in  the  county,  would  lend  dignity  to  his  insignificance.  Lesbia 
at  first  expressed  a  strong  disinclination  to  go  to  Rood  Hall. 
There  could  be  a  most  unpleasant  feeling  in  stopping  at  the 
house  of  a  man  whom  she  had  refused,  she  told  Lady  Kirkbank. 
"  My  dear,  Mr.  Smithson  has  forgiven  you,"  answered  her 
chaperon.     "  He  is  the  soul  of  good  nature." 

"One  would  think  he  was  accustomed  to  be  refused,"  said 
Lesbia.  "  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Rood  Hall,  but  I  don't  want  to 
spoil  your  Henley  week.  Could  not  I  run  down  to  Grasmere 
for  a  week,  with  Kibble  to  take  care  of  me,  and  see  dear  grand- 
mamma.?    I  could  tell  her  about  those  dreadful  bills." 

"  Bury  yourself  at  Grasmere  in  the  height  of  the  season ! 
Not  to  be  thought  of !     Besides,  Lady  Maulevrier  objected  be- 


256  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

fore  to  the  idea  of  your  traveling  alone  with  Kibble.  No  !  if 
you  can't  make  up  your  mind  to  go  to  Rood  Hall,  George  and 
I  must  make  up  our  minds  to  stay  away  But  it  will  be  rather, 
hard  lines ;  for  that  Henley  week  is  quite  the  joUiest  thing  in 
the  Summer." 

"Then  I'll  «o,"  said  Lesbia,  with  a  resigned  air.  "Not  for 
worlds  would  I  deprive  you  and  Sir  George  of  a  pleasure." 

In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  rather  wished  to  see  Rood  Hall. 
She  was  curious  to  behold  the  extent  and  magnitude  of  Mr. 
Smithson's  possessions.  She  had  seen  his  Italian  villa  in  Park 
Lane,  the  perfection  of  modern  art,  modern  skill,  modern  taste, 
reviving  the  old  eternally  beautiful  forms,  recreating  the  Pitti 
Palace — the  homes  of  the  Medici — the  halls  of  dead  and  gone 
Doges — and  now  she  was  told  that  Rood  Hall  a  genuine  old 
English  manor-house,  in  perfect  preservation — was  even  more 
interesting  than  the  villa  in  Park  Lane.  At  Rood  Hall  there 
w^ere  ideal  stables  and  farm,  hot-houses  without  number,  rose 
gardens,  lawns,  the  river  and  a  deer  park. 

So  the  invitation  was  accepted,  and  Mr.  Smithson  immediately 
laid  himself  at  Lesbia's  feet,  as  it  were,  with  regard  to  all  other 
invitations  for  the  Henley  festival.  Whom  should  he  ask  to 
meet  her,  whom  would  she  have? 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have  really  no  wish  to 
be  consulted.     I  could  not  presume  to  dictate." 

"  But  I  wish  you  to  dictate.  I  wish  you  to  be  imperious  in  the 
expression  of  your  wishes." 

"  Lady  Kirkbank  has  a  better  right  than  I,  if  anybody  is  to 
consulted,"  said  Lesbia,  modestly. 

"  Lady  Kirkbank  is  an  old  dear,  who  gets  on  delightfully 
with  everybody.  But  you  are  more  sensitive.  Your  comfort 
might  be  marred  by  an  obnoxious  presence.  I  will  ask  nobody 
whom  you  do  not  like — who  is  not  thoroughly  simpatico.  Have 
you  no  particular  friends  of  your  own  choosing  whom  you  w^ould 
like  me  to  ask  ?  " 

Lesbia  confessed  that  she  had  no  such  friends.  She  liked 
everybody  tolerably,  but  she  had  not  a  talent  for  friendship. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  in  the  London  season  one  must  be  too 
busy  to  make  friends. 

"  I  can  fancy  two  girls  getting  quite  attached  to  each  other 
out  of  the  season,"  she  said,  "  but  in  May  and  June  life  is  all  a 
rush  and  a  scramble — " 

"  And  one  has  no  time  to  gather  wayside  flowers  of  friend- 
ship," interjected  Mr.  Smithson.     "  Still,  if  there  are  no  people 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  257 

for  whom  you  have  an  especial  liking,  there  must  be  people 
whom  you  detest." 

Lesbia  owned  that  it  was  so.  Detestation  came  of  itself,  nat- 
urally. 

"  Then  let  me  be  sure  I  do  not  ask  any  of  your  pet  aversions," 
said  Mr.  Smithson.  "  You  met  Mr.  Plantagenet  Parsons,  the 
theatrical  critic,  at  my  house.     Shall  we  have  him  ?  " 

"  I  like  all  amusing  people." 

"  And  Horace  Meander,  the  poet.  Shall  we  have  him  ?  He 
is  brimful  of  conceits  and  affectations,  but  he  is  a  tremendous 
joke." 

"  Mr.  Meander  is  charming." 

"  Suppose  we  ask  Mostyn  and  his  wife  ?  Her  scraps  of  science 
are  rather  good  fun." 

"  I  haven't  the  faintest  objection  to  the  Mostyns,"  replied 
Lesbia.     "  But  who  are  *  we  '  ?  " 

"  We  are  you  and  I  for  the  nonce.  The  invitations  will  be 
issued  ostensibly  by  me,  but  they  will  really  emanate  from  you." 

"  I  am  to  be  the  shadow  behind  the  throne,"  said  Lesbia. 
"  How  delightful !  " 

"  I  would  rather  you  were  the  sovereign  ruler,  on  the  throne," 
answered  Smithson,  tenderly.  "  That  throne  shall  be  empty  till 
you  fill  it." 

"  Please  go  on  with  your  list  of  people,"  said  Lesbia,  checking 
this  gush  of  sentiment. 

She  began  to  feel  somehow  that  she  was  drifting  from  all  her 
moorings,  that  in  accepting  this  invitation  to  Rood  Hall  she  was 
allowing  herself  to  be  ensnared  into  an  alliance  about  which  she 
was  still  dotibtful.  If  anything  better  had  appeared  in  the  pros- 
pect of  her  life — if  any  worthier  suitor  had  come  forward,  she 
would  have  drifted  Mr.  Smithson  down  the  wind  ;  but  no  worthier 
suitor  had  offered  himself.  It  was  Smithson  or  nothing.  If  she 
did  not  accept  Smithson  she  would  go  back  to  Fellside  heavily 
burdened  with  debt  and  an  obvious  failure.  She  would  have 
to  run  the  gauntlet  of  a  London  season  without  definite  result ; 
and  this,  to  a  young  woman  so  impressed  with  her  transcendant 
merits,  was  a  most  humiliating  state  of  things. 

Other  people's  names  were  suggested  by  Mr.  Smithson  and 
approved  by  Lesbia,  and  a  house-party  of  about  fourteen  in  all 
was  made  up.  Mr.  Smithson's  steam  launch  would  comfortably 
accommodate  that  number.  He  had  a  couple  of  barges  for 
chance  visitors,  and  kept  an  open  table  on  board  them  all 
through  the  regatta. 

The  visit  arranged,  the  next  question  was  gowns.  Lesbia  had 
17 


258  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

gowns  enough  to  have  stocked  a  draper's  shop ;  but  then,  as 
she  and  Lady  Kirkbank  deplored,  the  difficulty  was  that  she  had 
worn  them  all,  some  as  many  as  three  or  four  times.  They 
were  doubtless  all  marked  and  known.  Some  of  them  had  been 
described  in  the  society  papers.  At  Henley  she  would  be  ex- 
pected to  wear  something  distinctly  new,  to  introduce  some  new 
fashion  of  gown  or  hat  or  parasol.  No  matter  how  ugly  the  new 
things  might  be  so  long  as  it  was  startling,  no  matter  how  eccen- 
tric provided  it  was  original. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ? "  asked  Lesbia,  despairingly. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  be  done.  We  must  go  in 
stantly  to  Seraphine  and  insist  upon  her  inventing  something. 
If  she  has  no  idea  ready  she  must  telegraph  to  Worth  and  get 
him  to  send  something  over.  Your  old  things  will  do  very  well 
for  Rood  Hall.  You  have  no  end  of  pretty  gov/ns  for  morning 
and  evening,  but  you  must  be  original  on  the  race  days.  Your 
gowns  will  t)e  in  all  the  papers." 

"  But  1  shall  be  only  getting  deeper  into  debt,"  said  Lesbia, 
with  a  sigh. 

''  That  can't  be  helped.  If  you  go  into  society  you  must  be 
properly  dressed.  We'll  go  to  Clanricarde  Place  directly  after 
luncheon  and  see  what  that  old  harpy  has  to  show  us." 

Lesbia  had  a  rather  uncomfortable  feeling  about  facing  the 
fair  Seraphine  without  being  able  to  give  her  a  check  upon  ac- 
count of  that  dreadful  bill.  She  had  quite  accepted  Lady  Kirk- 
bank's  idea  that  bills  need  never  be  discharged  in  full,  and  that 
the  true  system  of  finance  was  to  give  an  occasional  check  on 
account,  as  a  sop  to  Cerberus.  True,  that  while  Cerberus  fat- 
tened on  the  sops,  the  bill  seemed  always  growing ;  and  the 
final  crash,  when  Cerberus  grew  savage  and  sops  could  be  no 
more  accepted,  was  too  awful  to  be  thought  about. 

Lesbia  entered  Seraphine's  Louis  Seize  drawing-room  with  a 
faint  expectation  of  unpleasantness  ;  but  after  a  little  whisper- 
ing between  Lady  Kirkbank  and  the  dressmaker,  the  latter  came 
to  Lesbia  siniling  graciously,  and  laid  her  establishment,  as  it 
were,  at  the  damsel's  feet. 

"  Miladi  says  you  want  something  of  the  most  original — tan 
soit  peu  risque — even  for  Enley,"  she  said,  "  let  us  see  now," 
and  she  tapped  her  forehead  with  a  gold  thimble  which  nobody 
had  ever  seen  her  use,  but  which  looked  respectable. 

"  There  is  ze  dresses  what  Chaumont  wears  in  zis  new  play, 
*  Une  faute  dans  le  Passe.'  Yes,  zere  is  ze  watare  dress — a  Doat- 
ing  party  at  Bougival,  a  toilet  of  the  most  new,  striking,  ec  rasant, 
what  you  English  call  a  '  screamer." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  259 

"  What  a  genius  you  are,  Fiffine,"  exclaimed  Lady  Kirkbank, 
rapturously.  "The  '  Faute  dans  le  Passe  'was  only  produced 
last  week.  No  one  will  have  thought  of  reproducing  Chaumont's 
gowns  yet  awhile.     The.idea  is  an  inspiration." 

"  What  is  the  boating  costume  like  .? "  asked  Lady  Lesbia, 
faintly. 

"An  exquisite  combination  of  simplicity  with  chic,"  answered 
the  dressmaker.  "  A  skin-tight  indigo  blue  silk  Jersey  bodice, 
closely  studded  with  dark  blue  beads,  a  flounced  petticoat  of  in- 
digo and  amber  foulard,  an  amber  scarf  drawn  tightly  around 
the  hips,  and  a  dark  blue  toque  with  a  large  bunch  of  amber 
poppies.  Tan-colored  mousquetaire  gloves,  and  Hessian  boots 
of  tan-colored  kid." 

"  Hessian  boots  ! "  ejaculated  Lesbia. 

"  But,  yes,  miladi.  The  petticoat  is  somewhat  short,  you 
comprehend,  to  escape  the  damp  of  the  deck,  and,  after  all, 
Hessians  are  much  less  indelicate  than  silk  stockings,  legs  a 
cru,  as  M^e  may  say." 

"Lesbia,  you  will  look  enchanting  in  yellow  Hessians,"  said 
Lady  Kirkbank.  "Let  the  dress  be  put  in  hand  instantly, 
Seraphine." 

Lesbia  was  inclined  to  remonstrate.  She  did  not  admire  the 
description  of  the  costume ;  she  would  rather  have  something 
less  outrageous. 

"Outrageous  !  It  is  only  original,"  exclaimed  her  chaperon. 
"  If  Chaumont  wears  it,  you  may  be  sure  it  is  perfect." 

"  But  on  the  stage,  by  gaslight,  in  the  midst  of  unrealities," 
argued  Lesbia.     "That  makes  such  a  difference." 

"  My  dear,  there  is  no  difference  nowadays  between  the  stage 
and  the  drawing-room.  Whatever  Chaumont  wears  you  may 
wear.  And  now  let  us  think  of  the  second  day.  I  think  as 
your  first  costume  is  to  be  nautical  and  rather  masculine,  your 
second  should  be  somewhat  languishing  and  evapore.  Creamy 
Indian  muslin,  wild  flowers,  a  large  Leghorn  hat." 

"And  what  will  miladi  herself  wear?"  asked  the  French 
woman  of  Lady  Kirkbank.     "  She  will  have  something  new." 

"  No ;  at  my  age  it  doesn't  matter.  I  shall  wear  one  of  my 
cotton  frocks  and  my  Dunstable  hat." 

Lesbia  shuddered,  for  Lady  Kirkbank  in  her  cotton  frock  was 
a  spectacle  at  which  youth  laughed  and  age  blushed.  But  after 
all  it  did  not  matter  to  Lesbia.  She  would  have  liked  a  less 
rowdy  chaperon,  but  as  a  foil  to  her  own  fresh,  young  beauty 
Lady  Kirkbank  was  admirable. 

They  drove  down  to  Rood  Hall  early  next  week,  Sir  George 


26o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

conveying  them  in  his  drag,  with  a  change  of  horses  at  Maid- 
enhead. The  weather  was  peerless,  the  country  exquisite,  ap- 
proached from  London.  How  differently  that  river  landscape 
looks  to  the  eyes  of  the  traveler  returning  from  wild  West  of  Eng- 
land, the  wooded  gorges  of  Cornwall  and  Devon,  the  Tamar 
and  the  Dart.  Then  how  small  and  poor  and  mean  seems  sil- 
very Thames,  gliding  peacefully  between  his  willowy  banks,  sing- 
ing his  lullaby  to  the  whispering  sedges ;  a  poor  little  river,  a 
fiat,  commonplace  landscape,  says  the  traveler  fresh  from  moor- 
land and  tor,  from  the  rocky  shore  of  the  Atlantic,  the  deep  clefts 
of  the  great  red  hills. 

To  Lesbia's  eyes  the  placid  stream  and  the  green  pastures, 
breathing  odors  of  rneadow-sweet  and  clover,  seemed  passing 
lovely.  She  was  pleased  with  her  own  hat  and  parasol,  too, 
which  made  her  graciously  disposed  toward  the  landscape  ;  and 
the  last  packet  of  gloves  from  North  Audley  Street  fitted  without 
a  wrinkle.  The  glovemaker  was  beginning  to  understand  her 
hand,  which  was  a  study  for  a  sculptor,  but  which  had  its  little 
peculiarities. 

Nor  was  she  ill  disposed  to  Mr.  Smithson,  who  had  come  up 
to  town  by  an  early  train,  in  order  to  lunch  in  Arlington  Street 
and  go  back  by  coach,  seated  just  behind  Lady  Lesbia,  who  had 
the  box  seat  beside  Sir  George. 

The  drive  was  delightful.  It  was  a  few  minutes  after  five 
when  the  coach  drove  past  the  picturesque  old  Gatehouse  into 
Mr.  Smithson's  park,  and  Rood  Hall  lay  on  the  low  ground  in 
front  of  them,  with  its  back  to  the  river.  It  was  an  old  brick 
house  in  the  Tudor  style,  with  an  advanced  porch  and  four  pro- 
jecting wings,  three  stories  high,  with  picturesque  spire  roofs  over- 
topping the  main  building.  Around  the  house  ran  a  boldly 
carved  stone  parapet,  bearing  the  herons  and  bulrushes  which 
were  the  cognizance  of  the  noble  race  for  which  the  mansion 
was  built.  Numerous  projecting  mullioned  windows  broke  up 
the  line  of  the  park  front.  Lesbia  was  fain  to  own  that  Rood 
Hall  was  even  better  than  Park  Lane.  In  London  Mr.  Smithson 
had  created  a  palace,  but  it  was  a  new  palace,  which  still  had  a 
faint  flavor  of  bricks  and  mortar,  and  which  was  apt  to  remind  the 
spectator  of  that  wonderful  erection  of  Aladdin,  the  famous  par- 
venu of  Eastern  story.  Here,  in  Berkshire,  Mr.  Smithson  had 
dropped  into  a  nest  which  had  been  kept  warm  for  him  for  three 
centuries,  aired  and  beautified  by  generations  of  a  noble  race  that 
had  obligingly  decayed  and  dwindled  in  order  to  make  room  for 
Mr.  Smithson.  Here  the  parvenu  had  bought  a  home,  mellowed 
by  the  slow  growth  of  years,  touched  into  poetic  beauty  by  the 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  261 

chastening  fingers  of  time.  His  artist  friends  told  him  that  every 
brick  in  the  red  walls  was  "  precious,"  a  mystery  of  color  which 
only  an  artist  could  fitly  understand  and  value.  Here  he  had 
bought  associations,  he  had  bought  history.  He  had  bought  the 
dust  of  Elizabeth's  senators,  the  bones  of  her  court  beauties. 
The  cofiins  in  the  mausoleum  yonder  in  the  ferny  depths  of  the 
park,  the  village  church  just  outside  the  gates,  these  had  all  gone 
with  the  property. 

Lesbia  went  up  the  grand  stairway,  through  the  long  corridors, 
in  a  dream  of  wonder.  Brought  up  at  Fellside,  in  that  new  part 
of  the  Westmoreland  house  which  had  been  built  by  her  grand- 
mother and  had  no  history,  she  felt  thrilled  by  the  sober  splendor 
of  this  fine  old  manorial  mansion.  All  was  sound  and  substan- 
tial, as  if  created  yesterday,  so  well  preserved  had  been  the 
goods  and  chattels  of  the  noble  race,  and  yet  all  wore  such  un- 
mistakable marks  of  age.  The  deep  rich  coloring  of  the  wain- 
scot, the  faded  hues  of  the  tapestry,  the  draperies  of  costly  velvet 
and  brocade  were  all  sobered  by  the  passing  of  years. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  shown  his  good  taste  in  having  kept  all 
things  as  Sir  Hubert  Heronville,  the  last  of  his  race,  had  left 
them ;  and  the  Heronvilles  had  been  one  of  those  grand  old 
Tory  races  which  change  nothing  of  the  past. 

Lady  Lesbia's  bed-room  was  the  state  chamber  which  had 
been  occupied  by  kings  and  queens  in  days  of  yore.  That 
grandiose  four-poster,  with  the  carved  ebony  columns,  cut  vel- 
vet curtains,  and  plumes  of  ostrich  feathers,  had  been  built  for 
Elizabeth  when  she  deigned  to  include  Rood  Hall  in  one  of  her 
royal  progresses.  Charles  the  First  had  rested  his  weary  head 
upon  those  very  pillows  before  he  went  on  to  the  inn  at  Uxbridge, 
where  he  was  to  be  lodged  less  luxuriously.  James  the  Second 
had  stayed  there,  when  Duke  of  York,  with  Mistress  Anne  Hyde, 
before  he  acknowledged  his  marriage  to  the  multitude  ;  and 
Anne's  daughter  had  occupied  the  same  room,  as  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, forty  years  later;  and  now  the  royal  chamber,  with  adja- 
cent dressing-room,  and  orator}^,  and  spacious  boudoir  all  in  the 
same  suite,  was  reserved  for  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  spoiling  me,"  she  told  Mr.  Smithson, 
when  he  asked  if  she  approved  of  the  rooms  that  had  been  al- 
lotted to  her.  "  I  feel  quite  ashamed  of  myself  among  the 
ghosts  of  dead  and  gone  queens." 

"  Why  so  ?  Surely  the  royalty  of  beauty  has  as  divine  a  right 
as  that  of  an  anointed  sovereign." 

"  1  hope  the  royal  personages  don't  walk,"  exclaimed  Lady 


262  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

* 
Kirkbank,  in  her  girlish  tone  ;  "  this  is  just  the  house  in  which 
one  would  expect  ghosts." 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Mostyn  hastened  to  enlighten  the  company 
upon  the  real  causes  of  ghost-seeing,  which  she  had  lately  studied 
in  Carpenter's  Mental  Physiology,  and  favored  them  with  a  di- 
luted version  of  the  views  of  that  authority. 

This  was  at  afternoon  tea  in  the  library,  where  the  brass- 
vvired  bookcases,  filled  with  mighty  folios  and  handsome  octavos 
in  old  bindings,  looked  as  if  they  had  not  been  opened  for  a 
century.  The  literature  of  past  ages  furnished  the  room  and 
made  a  delightful  background.  Literature  of  the  present  lay 
about  on  the  tables,  and  testified  that  the  highest  intellectual 
flight  of  the  inhabitants  of  Rood  Hall  was  a  dip  into  the  Con- 
temporary or  Nineteenth  Century,  or  the  perusal  of  the  last  new 
scandal  in  the  shape  of  Reminiscences  or  Autobiography.  One 
large  round  table  was  consecrated  to  Mudie,  another  to  Rolan- 
di.  On  the  one  side  you  had  Mrs.  Oliphant,  on  the  other  Zola,, 
exemplifying  the  genius  of  the  two  nations. 

After  tea  Mr.  Smithson's  visitors,  most  of  whom  had  arrived 
in  Sir  George's  drag,  explored  the  grounds,  and  these  were 
lovely  beyond  expression  in  the  low  afternoon  light.  Cedars  of 
Lebanon  spread  their  broad  shadows  on  the  velvet  lawn,  yews 
and  Wellingtonias  of  mighty  growth  made  an  atmosphere  of 
gloom  in  some  parts  of  the  grounds.  One  great  feature  was 
the  Ladies'  Garden,  a  spot  apart,  a  great  square  garden  sur- 
rounded with  a  laurel  wall  eight  feet  high,  containing  a  rose 
garden,  where  the  choicest  specimens  grew  and  flourished,  while 
in  the  center  there  was  a  circular  fish  pond  and  a  fountain. 
There  was  a  Lavender  Walk  too,  another  feature  of  the  grounds 
at  Rood  Hall,  an  avenue  of  tall  lavender  bushes,  much  affected 
by  the  stately  dames  of  old. 

Modern  manners  preferred  the  river  terrace  as  a  pleasant 
place  on  which  to  loiter  at  evening,  to  watch  the  boats  flashing 
by  in  the  evening  light  or  the  sun  going  down  behind  a  fringe 
of  willows  on  the  opposite  bank.  This  Italian  terrace,  with  its 
statues  and  carved  vases  filled  with  roses,  fuchsias  and  geranium, 
was  the  great  point  of  rendezvous  after  dinner  at  Rood  Hall 
— an  ideal  spot  whereon  to  linger  in  the  deepening  twilight, 
from  which  to  gaze  upon  the  moon-lit  river  later  on  in  the  night. 

The  windows  of  the  drawing-room  and  music-room  and  ball- 
room opened  on  to  this  terrace,  and  the  royal  wing — the  tower- 
shaped  wing  now  devoted  to  Lady  Lesbia — looked  upon  the 
terrace  and  the  river. 

'•  Lovely  as  your  house  is   altogether,  I  think  this  river  view 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  263 

is  the  best  part  of  it,"  said  Lady  Lesbia,  as  she  strolled  with 
Mr.  Smithson  on  the  terrace  after  dinner,  dressed  in  India  mus- 
lin, which  was  almost  as  poetical  as  a  vapor,  and  with  a  cloud 
of  dehcate  lace  wrapped  round  her  head.  "  I  think  I  shall  spend 
half  of  my  life  at  my  boudoir  window,  gloating  over  that  delicious 
landscape." 

The  festivities  were  late  on  this  second  evening,  as  Mr.  Smith 
son  had  invited  a  good  many  people  from  the  neighborhood,  but 
the  house  party  were  not  the  less  early  on  the  following  morning, 
which  was  the  first  Henley  day. 

It  was  a  peerless  morning,  and  all  the  brass-work  of  Mr. 
Smithson's  launch  sparkled  and  shone  in  the  sun  as  she  lay  in 
front  of  the  terrace.  A  wooden  pier,  a  portable  construction, 
was  thrown  out  to  enable  the  company  to  go  on  board  the  launch 
without  the  possibility  of  wet  feet  or  damaged  raiment. 

Lesbia's  Chaumont  costume  was  a  success.  The  women 
praised  it,  the  men  stared  and  admired.  The  dark-blue  silken 
jersey,  sparkling  with  closely  studded  indigo  beads,  fitted  the 
slim,  graceful  figure  as  a  serpent's  scales  fit  the  serpent.  The 
coquettish  little  bkie  silk  toque,  the  careless  cluster  of  gold-col- 
ored poppies  in  the  glossy  brown  hair,  the  large  sunshade  of  old- 
gold  satin,  the  flounced  petticoat  of  softest  Indian  silk,  the 
dainty  litde  tan-colored  boots  with  high  heels  and  pointed  toes, 
were  all  perfect  after  their  fashion,  and  Mr.  Smithson  felt  that 
the  liege  lady  of  his  life,  the  woman  he  meant  to  marry  willy  nilly, 
would  be  the  belle  of  the  race-course.  Nor  was  he  disappointed. 
Everybody  in  London  had  heard  of  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden. 
Her  photograph  was  in  all  the  West  End  windows,  was  enshrined 
in  the  albums  of  South  Kensington  and  Clapham,  Maida  Vale 
and  Haverstock  Hill.  People  whose  circles  were  far  remote  from 
Lady  Lesbia's  circle  were  as  familiar  with  her  beauty  as  if  they 
had  known  her  from  her  cradle.  And  all  these  outsiders  wanted 
to  see  her  in  the  flesh,  just  as  they  always  thirst  to  behold 
royal  personages.  So  when  it  became  known  that  the  beauti- 
ful Lady  Lesbia  Haselden  was  on  board  Mr.  Smithson's  launch, 
all  the  people  in  the  small  boats,  or  on  neighboring  barges, 
made  it  their  business  to  have  a  good  look  at  her.  The  launch 
was  almost  mobbed  by  those  inquisitive  little  boats  in  the  inter- 
vals between  the  races. 

"  What  are  the  people  all  staring  and  hustling  each  other 
for?  "  asked  Lesbia,  innocently.  She  had  seen  the  same  hus- 
tling and  whispering  and  staring  in  the  hall  at  the  opera,  when 
she  was  waiting  for  her  carriage ;  but  she  chose  to  affect  uncon- 
sciousness.    "  What  do  they  all  want  ?  " 


264  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  I  think  they  want  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  who  was 
sitting  by  her  side.     "  A  very  natural  desire." 

Lesbia  laughed,  and  lowered  the  big  yellow  sunshade  so  as 
to  hide  herself  altogether  from  the  starers. 

"  How  silly,"  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  all  the  fault  of  those 
horrid  photographers  ;  they  vulgarize  everything  and  everybody. 
I  will  never  be  photographed  again." 

"  Oh,  yes  you  will,  and  in  that  frock.  It's  the  prettiest  thing 
I've  seen  for  a  long  time.  Why  do  you  hide  yourself  from  those 
poor  wretches  who  keep  rowing  backward  and  forward  in  an 
obviously  aimless  way  just  to  get  a  peep  at  you  en  passant. 
What  happiness  for  us  who  live  near  you,  and  can  gaze  when 
we  will,  without  all  those  absurd  maneuvers.  There  goes  the 
gun — and  now  for  a  hard-fought  race." 

Lesbia  pretended  to  be  interested  in  the  racing — she  pre- 
tended to  be  gay ;  but  her  heart  was  as  heavy  as  lead.  That 
burden  of  debt  which  had  been  growing  ever  since  Seraphine 
sent  in  her  bill  was  weighing  her  down  to  the  dust. 

She  owed  three  thousand  pounds.  It  seemed  incredible  that 
she  should  owe  so  much — that  a  girl's  frivolous  fancies  and  ex- 
travagances could  amount  to  such  a  sum  within  so  short  a  span. 
But  thoughtless  purchases,  ignorant  orders  had  run  on  from 
week  to  week,  and  the  main  result  was  an  indebtedness  of  close 
upon  three  thousand  pounds 

Three  thousand  pounds  !  The  sum  was  continually  sounding 
in  her  ears  like  the  cry  of  a  screech  owl.  The  very  ripple  of 
theri  ver  flowing  so  peacefully  under  the  blue  summer  sky 
seemed  to  repeat  the  words.  Three  thousand  pounds  !  "  Is  it 
much  ?  "  she  wondered,  having  no  standard  of  comparison.  "  Is 
it  very  much  more  than  my  grandmother  will  expect  me  to  have 
spent  in  the  time  ?  Will  it  trouble  her  to  have  to  pay  those 
bills  ?     Will  she  be  very  angry  ?  " 

These  were  questions  which  Lesbia  kept  asking  herself  in 
every  pause  of  her  frivolous  existence,  in  such  a  pause  as  this, 
for  instance,  while  the  people  round  her  were  standing  breath- 
less, open-mouthed,  gazing  after  the  boats.  She  did  not  care  a 
straw  for  the  boats,  who  won  or  who  lost  the  race.  It  was  all  a 
hollow  mockery.  Indeed,  it  seemed  just  now  that  the  only  real 
tiling  in  life  was  those  accursed  bills,  which  would  have  to  be 
paid  soniehow. 

She  had  told  Lady  Maulevrier  nothing  about  them  as  yet. 
She  had  allowed  herself  to  be  advised  by  Lady  Kirkbank,  and 
she  had  taken  time  to  think.     But  thought  had  given  her  no 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  265 

help.  The  days  were  gliding  onward,  and  Lady  Maulevrier 
would  have  to  be  told. 

She  meditated  perplexedly  about  her  grandmother's  income. 
She  had  never  heard  the  extent  of  it,  but  had  taken  for  granted 
that  Lady  Maulevrier  was  rich.  Would  three  thousand  pounds 
make  a  great  inroad  on  that  income  ?  Would  it  be  a  year's  in- 
come— half  a  year's  .'  Lesbia  had  no  idea.  Life  at  Fellside 
was  carried  on  in  an  elegant  manner — with  considerable  luxury 
in  house  and  garden — a  luxury  of  flowers,  a  lavish  expenditure 
of  labor.  Yet  the  expenditure  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  existence, 
spent  always  on  the  same  spot,  must  be  as  nothing  to  the  money 
spent  in  such  a  life  as  Lady  Kirkbank's,  which  involved  the 
keeping  up  of  three  or  four  houses,  and  costly  journeys  to  and 
fro  and  incessant  changes  of  attire. 

No  doubt  Lady  Maulevrier  had  saved  money  ;  yes,  she  must 
have  saved  thousands  during  her  long  seclusion,  Lesbia  argued. 
Her  grandmother  had  told  her  that  she  was  to  look  upon  her- 
self as  an  heiress.  This  could  only  mean  that  Lady  Maulevrier 
had  a  fortune  to  leave  her  ;  and  this  being  so,  what  could  it 
matter  if  she  had  anticipated  some  of  her  portion  ?  And  yet, 
and  yet,  there  was  in  her  heart  of  hearts  a  terrible  fear  of  that 
stern  dowager,  of  the  cold  scorn  in  those  splendid  eyes  when 
she  should  stand  revealed  in  all  her  foolishness,  her  selfish, 
mindless,  vain  extravagances.  She,  who  had  never  been  re- 
proved, shrank  with  a  sickly  dread  from  the  idea  of  reproof ; 
and  to  be  told  that  her  career  as  a  fashionable  beauty  had  been 
a  failure,  that  would  be  the  bitterest  pang  of  all. 

Soon  came  luncheon  and  Heidseck,  and  then  an  afternoon 
which  was  gayer  than  the  morning  had  been,  inasmuch  as  every 
one  talked  and  laughed  more  after  luncheon.  And  then  there 
was  five  o'clock  tea  on  deck,  under  the  striped  Japanese  awning, 
to  the  jingle  of  banjos,  enlivened  by  the  wit  of  black-faced  min- 
strels, amidst  wherries  and  canoes  and  gondolas,  and  ponder- 
ous house-boats,  and  snorting  launches,  crowding  the  sides  of 
the  sun-lit  river,  in  full  view  of  the  crowd  yonder  in  front  of  the 
Red  Lion,  and  here  on  this  nearer  bank  and  all  along  either 
^hore,  fringing  the  green  meadows  with  a  gaudy  border  of  well- 
dressed  humanity. 

It  was  a  gay  scene,  and  Lesbia  gave  herself  up  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  hour,  and  talked  and  chaffed,  as  she  had  learned  to 
talk  and  chaff  in  one  brief  season,  holding  her  own  against  all 
comers. 

Rood  Hall  looked  lovely  when  they  went  back  to  it  in  the 
gloaming,  an  Elizabethan  pile  crowned  with  towers.     The  foui 


266  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

wings  with  their  conical  roofs,  the  massive  projecting  windows, 
gray  stone,  ruddy  brickwork,  lattices  reflecting  the  sunlight, 
Italian  terrace  and  blue  river  in  the  foreground,  cedars  and  yews 
at  the  back,  all  made  a  splendid  picture  of  an  English  ancestral 
honne. 

"  Nice  old  place,  isn't  it  ? "  asked  Mr.  Smithson,  seeing  Les- 
bia's  admiring  gaze  as  the  launch  neared  the  terrace.  They 
two  were  standing  in  the  bows  apart  from  all  the  rest. 

"  Nice  ! — it  is  simply  perfect." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't.     There  is  one  thing  wanted  yet." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  wife.  You  are  the  only  person  who  can  make  any  house 
of  mine  perfect.  Will  you .? "  He  took  her  hand,  which  she 
did  not  withdraw  from  his  grasp.  He  bent  his  head  and  kissed 
the  little  hand  in  its  soft  Swedish  glove. 

"  Will  you,  Lesbia  ?  "  he  repeated,  earnestly,  and  she  answered, 
softly,  "  Yes." 

That  one  brief  syllable  was  more  like  a  sigh  than  a  spoken 
word,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  in  the  utterance  of  that  word 
the  three  thousand  pounds  had  been  paid. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

^*  KIND   IS   MY   LOVE   TO-DAY,   TO-MORROW   KIND." 

While  Lady  Lesbia  was  draining  the  cup  of  London  folly 
and  London  care  to  the  dregs.  Lady  Mary  was  leading  her  usual 
quiet  life  beside  the  glassy  lake,  where  the  green  hill-sides  and 
sheep  walks  were  reflected  in  all  their  Summer  verdure  under 
the  cloudless  azure  of  the  Summer  sky.  A  monotonous  life — 
passing  dull  as  seen  from  the  outside — and  yet  Mary  was  very 
happy,  happy  even  in  her  solitude,  with  the  grave  deep  joy  of  a 
satisfied  heart,  a  mind  at  rest.  All  life  had  taken  a  new  color 
since  her  engagement  to  John  Hammond.  A  sense  of  new 
duties,  an  awakening  earnestness,  had  given  a  graver  tone  to 
her  character.  Her  spirits  were  less  wild,  yet  not  less  joyous 
than  of  old.     The  joy  was  holier,  deeper. 

Her  lover's  letters  were  the  chief  delight  of  her  lonely  days. 
To  read  them  again  and  again,  and  ponder  upon  them,  and  then 
to  pour  out  all  her  heart  and  mind  in  answering  them.  These 
were  pleasure  enough  for  any  young  life.  Hammond's  letters 
were  such  as  any  young  woman  might  be  proud  to  receive. 


PHA  NTOM  FQR  TUNE.  2G7 

They  were  not  love  letters  only.  He  wrote  as  friend  to  friend ; 
not  descending  from  the  proud  pinnacle  of  mascuhne  intelligence 
to  the  lower  level  of  feminine  silliness  ;  not  writing  down  to  a 
simple  country  girl's  capacity ;  but  writing  fully  and  fervently, 
as  if  there  were  no  subject  too  lofty  or  too  grave  for  the  under- 
standing of  his  betrothed.  He  wrote  as  one  sure  of  being 
sympathized  with,  wrote  as  to  his  second  self  ;  and  Mary  showed 
herself  not  unworthy  of  the  honor  thus  rendered  to  her  intel- 
lect. 

There  was  one  world  which  had  newly  opened  to  Mary  since 
her  engagement,  and  that  was  the  world  of  politics.  Hammond 
had  told  her  that  his  ambition  was  to  succeed  as  a  politician — 
to  do  some  good  in  his  day  as  one  of  the  governing  body  ;  and 
from  thiL  time  she  had  made  it  her  business  to  learn  how 
England  and  the  world  outside  England  were  governed. 

She  had  no  natural  learning  to  the  study  of  political  economy. 
Indeed,  she  had  always  imagined  any  question  relating  to  the 
government  of  her  country  to  be  inherently  dry  as  dust  and 
uninviting.  But  had  John  Hammond  devoted  his  days  to  the 
study  of  Coptic  manuscripts  or  the  arrow-headed  inscriptions 
upon  Assyrian  tablets,  she  would  have  toiled  her  hardest  in  the 
endeavor  to  make  herself  a  Coptic  scholar  or  an  adept  in  the 
cuneiform  character.  If  he  had  been  a  student  of  Chinese,  she 
would  not  have  been  discomfited  by  the  letters  of  the  fifty  thou- 
sand characters  in  the  Chinese  alphabet. 

And  so,  as  he  was  to  make  his  name  in  the  arena  of  public 
life,  she  set  herself  to  acquire  a  proper  understanding  of  the 
science  of  politics ;  and  to  this  end  she  gorged  herself  with 
English  history,  Hume,  Hallam,  Green,  Justin  MacCarthy, 
Palgrave,  Lecky,  from  the  days  of  Witena-gemot  to  the  Reform 
Bill,  the  Repeal  of  the  Corn  Laws,  the  Disestablishment  of  the 
Irish  Church,  Ballot,  Trade  Reunionism,  and  unreciprocated 
Free  Trade.  No  question  was  deep  enough  to  repel  her,  and 
what  concerned  him  and  his  welfare  must  needs  be  full  of 
interest  for  her. 

To  this  end  she  read  the  debates  religiously  day  by  day,  and 
she  one  day  ventured  shyly  to  suggest  that  she  should  read  them 
aloud  to  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"  Would  it  not  be  a  little  rest  for  you  if  I  were  to  read  your 
Times  aloud  to  you  every  afternoon,  grandmother?  "  she  asked. 
*'  You  read  so  many  books,  French,  English  and  German,  and  I 
think  your  eyes  must  get  a  little  tired  sometimes." 

Mary  ventured  the  remark  with  some  timidity,  for  those  falcon 
eyes  were  fixed  upon   her  all  the   time,  bright   and  clear  and 


266  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Steady  as  the  eyes  of  youth.  It  seemed  almost  an  impertinence 
to  suggest  that  such  eyes  could  ever  know  weariness. 

"  No,  Mary,  my  sight  holds  out  wonderfully  for  an  old 
woman,"  replied  her  Ladyship,  gently.  "  The  new  theory  of  the 
last  oculist  whose  book  I  dipped  into — a  very  amusing  and 
interesting  book,  by  the  by — is  that  the  sight  improves  and 
strengthens  by  constant  use,  and  that  an  agricultural  laborer, 
who  hardly  uses  his  eyes  at  all,  has  rarely  in  the  decline  of  life 
so  good  a  sight  as  the  watchmaker  or  the  student.  I  have  read 
immensely  all  my  life  and  find  myself  no  worse  for  that  indul- 
gence. But  you  may  read  the  debates  to  me  if  you  like,  my 
dear,  for  if  my  eyes  are  strong,  I  myself  am  very  tired.  Sick  to 
death,  Mary,  sick  to  death." 

The  splendid  eyes  turned  from  Mary  and  looked  away  to  the 
blue  sky,  to  the  hills  in  their  ineffable  beauty  of  color  and  light 
— shifting,  changing  with  every  moment  of  the  summer  day. 
Intense  weariness,  a  settled  despair,  were  expressed  in  that 
look — tearless,  yet  sadder  than  all  tears. 

"  It  must  be  very  monotonous — very  sad  for  you,"  murmured 
Mary,  her  own  eyes  brimming  over  with  tears.  ''  But  it  will 
not  be  always  so,  dear  grandmother.  I  hope  a  time  will  come 
when  you  will  be  able  to  go  about  again — to  resume  your  old 
life." 

"  I  do  not  hope,  Mary.  No,  child,  I  feel  and  know  that  time 
will  never  come.  My  strength  is  ebbing  slowly  day  by  day. 
If  I  live  for  another  year — live  to  see  Lesbia  married  and  you, 
too,  perhaps — "  she  faltered,  and  the  thin,  semi-transparent  hand 
was  pressed  upon  her  brow.  "  What  will  be  said  of  me  when  I 
am  dead  ? " 

Mary  feared  that  her  grandmothers  mind  was  wandering. 
She  came  and  knelt  beside  the  couch  and  laid  her  head  against 
the  satin  pillows,  tenderly,  caressingly. 

•'  Dear  grandmother,  pray  be  calm,"  she  murmured. 

"  Mary,  do  not  look  at  me  like  that,  as  if  you  would  read  my 
heart-  There  are  hearts  that  must  not  be  looked  into.  Mine 
is  like  a  charnel  house.  Monotonous,  yes  ;  my  life  has  been 
monotonous.  No  conventional  gloom  was  ever  deeper  than  the 
gloom  of  Fellside.  My  boy  did  nothing  to  lighten  it  for  me, 
and  his  son  followed  his  footsteps.  You  and  Lesbia  have  been 
my  only  consolation.  Lesbia  !  I  was  so  proud  of  her  beauty, 
so  proud  and  fond  of  her  because  she  was  like  me,  and  recalled 
my  own  youth.  And  see  how  easily  she  forgets  me.  She  has 
gone  into  a  new  world,  in  which  my  age  and  my  infirmities 
have  no  part  ;  and  I  am  as  nothing  to  her." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  269 

Mary  changed  from  red  10  pale,  so  painful  was  her  embarrass- 
ment. '  What  could  she  say  in  defense  of  her  sister  ?  How 
could  she  deny  that  Lesbia  was  an  ingrate,  when  those  rare 
and  hurried  letters,  so  careless  in  their  tone,  expressing  the 
selfishness  of  the  writer  in  every  syllable,  told  but  too  plainly 
of  forgetfulness  and  ingratitude  ? 

"  Dear  grandmother,  Lesbia  has  so  much  to  do — her  life  is 
so  full  of  engagements,"  she  faltered,  feebly. 

"  Yes,  she  goes  from  party  to  party — she  gives  herself  up 
heart  and  mind  and  soul  to  pleasures  which  she  ought  to 
consider  only  as  the  trivial  means  to  great  ends  ;  and  she  for- 
gets the  woman  who  reared  her,  and  cared  for  her,  and  watched 
over  her  from  her  infancy,  and  who  tried  to  inspire  her  with 
a  noble  ambition.  Yes,  read  to  me,  child,  read ;  give  me  new 
thoughts,  if  you  can,  for  my  brain  is  weary  with  grinding  the 
old  ones.  There  was  a  grand  debate  in  the  Lords  last  night, 
and  Lord  Hartfield  spoke.  Let  me  hear  his  speech.  You 
can  read  what  was  said  by  the  man  before  him  ;  never  mind 
the  rest." 

Mary  read  Lord  Somebody's  speech,  which  was  passing  dull, 
but  which  prepared  the  ground  for  a  magnificent  and  exhaustive 
reply  from  Lord  Hartfield.  The  question  was  an  important 
one,  affecting  the  well-being  of  the  masses,  and  Lord  Hartfield 
spoke  with  an  eloquence  which  rose  in  force  and  fire  as  he 
wound  himself  like  a  serpent  into  the  heart  of  his  subject- 
beginning  quietly,  soberly,  with  no  opening  flashes  of  rhetoric, 
but  rising  gradually  to  the  topmost  heights  of  oratory. 

"  What  a  speech,"  cried  Lady  Maulevrier,  delighted,  her 
cheeks  glowing,  her  eyes  kindling;  "  what  a  noble  fellow  the 
speaker  must  be.  Oh,  Mary,  I  must  tell  you  a  secret.  I  loved 
that  man's  father.  Yes,  my  dear,  I  loved  him  fondly,  dearly, 
truly,  as  you  love  that  young  man  of  yours  ;  and  he  was  the  only 
man  I  ever  really  loved.  Fate  parted  us.  But  I  have  never 
forgotten  him — never,  Mary,  never.  At  this  moment  I  have 
but  to  close  my  eyes  and  I  can  see  his  face — see  him  looking 
at  me  as  he  looked  the  last  time  we  met.  He  was  a  younger 
son,  poor,  his  future  quite  hopeless  in  those  days  ;  but  it  was 
not  my  fault  we  were  parted.  I  would  have  married  him — yes, 
wedded  poverty,  just  as  you  are  going  to  marry  this  Mr.  Ham- 
mond ;  but  my  people  would  not  let  me,  and  I  was  too  young, 
too  helpless,  to  make  a  fight.  Oh,  Mary,  if  I  had  only  fought 
hard  enough,  what  a  happy  woman  I  might  have  been,  and 
how  good  a  wife." 

"  You  were  a  good  wife  to  my  grandfather,  I  am  sure,"  fal- 


270  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

tered  Mary,  by  way  of  saying  something  consolatory.  A  dark 
frown  came  over  Lady  Maulevrier's  face,  which  had  softened  to 
deepest  tenderness  just  before. 

"  A  good  wife  to  Maulevrier,"  she  said,  in  a  mocking  tone. 
"  Well,  yes,  as  good  a  wife  as  such  a  husband  deserved.  I  was 
better  than  Caesar's  wife,  Mary,  for  no  breath  of  suspicion  ever 
rested  upon  my  name.  But  if  I  had  married  Hartfield  I  should 
have  been  a  happy  woman  ;  and  that  I  have  never  been  since 
I  parted  from  him.'' 

*'  You  have  never  seen  the  present  Lord  Hartfield,  I  think  ?  " 
_  "  Never ;  but  I  have  watched  his  career.  I  have  thought  of 
him.  His  father  died  while  he  was  an  infant,  and  he  was 
brought  up  in  seclusion  by  a  widowed  mother,  who  kept  him 
tied  to  her  apron  string  till  he  went  to  Oxford,  She  idolized 
him,  and  I  am  told  she  taught  herself  Latin  and  Greek,  mathe- 
matics even,  in  order  to  help  him  in  his  studies,  and  later  on 
worked  at  the  classics  with  him  until  she  becam.e  exceptionally 
learned  for  a  woman.  She  was  her  son's  companion  and  friend, 
sympathized  with  his  tastes,  his  pleasures,  his  friendships,  de- 
voted every  hour  of  her  life,  every  thought  of  her  mind  to  his 
welfare,  his  interests,  walked  with  him,  rode  with  him,  traveled 
half  over  Europe,  yachted  with  him.  Her  friends  all  declared 
that  the  lad  would  grow  up  an  odious  milksop ;  but  I  am  told 
that  there  never  was  a  manlier  man  than  Lord  Hartfield.  From 
his  boyhood  he  was  his  mother's  protector,  helped  to  adminis- 
ter her  affairs,  acquired  a  premature  sense  of  responsibility, 
and  escaped  almost  all  those  vices  which  make  young  men  de- 
testable. His  mother  died  within  a  few  months  of  his  majority. 
He  was  broked-hearted  at  losing  her  and  went  abroad  immedi- 
ately after  her  death.  From  that  time  he  has  been  a  great 
traveler.  But  I  suppose  now  that  he  has  taken  his  seat  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  and  has  spoken  a  good  many  times,  he  means 
to  settle  down  and  take  his  place  among  the  foremost  men  of 
his  day.     I  am  told  that  he  is  worthy  to  take  such  a  place," 

"  You  must  feel  warmly  interested  in  watching  his  career  t  " 
said  Mary,  sympathetically.  » 

"  I  am  interested  in  everything  that  concerns  him.  I  will  tell 
you  another  secret,  Mary.  I  think  I  am  getting  into  my  dotage, 
my  dear,  or  I  should  hardly  talk  to  you  like  this,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier,^,with  a  touch  of  bitterness. 

Mary  v;as'^tting  on  a  stool  by  the  sofa,  close  to  the  invalid's 
pillow.  She  clasped  her  grandmother's  hand  and  kissed  it 
fondly. 

"  Dear  grandmother,  I  think  you  are  talking  to  me  like  this 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  271 

to-day  because  you  are  beginning  to  care  for  me  a  little,"  she 
said  tenderly. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  are  very  good,  very  sweet  and  forgiving 
to  care  forme  at  all,  after  my  neglect  of  you,"  answered  Lady- 
Maulevrier,  with  a  sigh.  "I  have  kept  you  out  in  the  cold  so 
long,  Mary.  Lesbia — well,  Lesbia  has  been  a  kind  of  infatua- 
tion for  me,  and  like  all  infatuations  it  has  ended  in  disappoint- 
ment and  bitterness.  Ambition  has  been  the  bane  of  my  life, 
Mary ;  and  when  I  could  be  no  longer  ambitious  for  myself — 
when  my  own  existence  became  a  mere  death  in  life,  I  began  to 
dream  and  to  scheme  for  the  aggrandizement  of  my  grand- 
daughter. Lesbia's  beauty,  Lesbia's  elegance  seemed  to  insure 
success — and  so  I  dreamt  my  dream — which  may  never  be  ful- 
filled." 

"  What  was  your  dream,  grandmamma  ?  May  I  know  all 
about  it  ? " 

"  That  was  the  secret  I  spoke  of  just  now.  Yes,  Mary,  you 
may  know,  for  I  fear  the  dream  will  never  be  realized.  I  wanted 
my  Lesbia  to  become  Lord  Hartfield's  wife.  I  would  have 
brought  them  together  myself,  could  I  but  have  gone  to  London; 
but  failing  that,  I  fancied  Lady  Kirkbank  would  have  divined 
my  wishes  without  being  told  them  ;  and  would  have  introduced 
Hartfield  to  Lesbia  ;  and  now  the  London  season  is  drawing  to 
a  close,  and  Hartfield  and  Lesbia  have  never  met.  He  hardly 
goes  anywhere,  I  am  told.  He  devotes  himself  exclusively  to 
politics,  and  he  is  not  in  Lady  Kirkbank's  set.  A  terrible  dis- 
appointment to  me,  Mary  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  Mary.  "  Lesbia  is  so  lovely.  If  Lord 
Hartfield  was  fancy  free  he  ought  to  fall  in  love  with  her  could 
they  but  meet.  I  thought  that  in  London  all  fashionable  people 
knew  each  other  and  were  continually  meeting." 

"  It  used  to  be  so  in  my  day,  Mary.  Almack's  was  a  common 
ground,  even  if  there  had  been  no  other.  But  now  there  are 
circles  and  circles,  I  believe,  rings  that  touch  "occasionally,  but 
never  break  and  mingle.  I  am  afraid  poor  Georgie's  set  is  not 
quite  so  nice  as  I  could  have  wished.  Yet  Lesbia  writes  as  if 
she  were  in  raptures  with  her  chaperon,  and  with  all  the  people 
she  meets.  And  then  Georgie  tells  me  that  this  Mr.  Smithson 
whom  Lesbia  had  refused  is  a  very  important  personage,  a 
millionaire,  and  very  likely  to  be  made  a  peer.'* 

"  A  new  peer,"  said  Mary,  making  a  wry  face.  "  One  would 
rather  have  an  old  commoner.  I 'always  fancy  a  newly  made 
peer  must  be  like  a  newly  built  house,  glaring  and  staring  and 
arid  and  uncongenial." 


272 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE- 


"  C'est  selon,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  "  one  would  not  despise 
a  Chatham  or  a  WeUington  because  of  the  newness  of  his  title ; 
but  a  man  who  has  only  money  to  recommend  him — " 

Lady  Maulevrier  lett  her  sentence  unfinished,  save  by  a  shrug, 
and  Mary  made  another  wry  face.  She  had  that  grand  contempt 
for  sordid  wealth  which  is  common  to  young  people  who  have 
never  known  the  want  of  money. 

"  I  hope  Lesbia  will  marry  some  one  better  than  Mr.  Smith- 
son,"  she  said. 

"  I  hope  so,  too,  dear ;  and  yet  do  you  know  I  have  an  idea 
that  Lesbia  means  to  accept  Mr.  Smithson,  or  she  would  hardly 
have  consented  to  go  to  his  house  for  the  Henley  week.  Here 
is  a  letter  from  Georgie  Kirkbanl:  which  you  will  have  to  answer 
for  me  to-morrow — a  letter  full  of  raptures  about  Mr.  Smithson's 
place  in  Berkshire,  Rood  Hall.  I  remember  the  house  well. 
I  was  there  nearly  fifty  years  ago,  when  the  Heronvilles  owned 
it ;  and  now  the  Heronvilles  are  all  dead  or  ruined,  and  this  cit}- 

'  person  is  master  of  the  old  mansion.     It  is  a  strange  world', 

'  Mary." 

From  that  time  forward  Mary  and  her  grandmother  were  on 

'  more  confidential  terms,  and  when,  two  days  later,  Fellside  was 

^  startled  into  life  by  the  unexpected  arrival  of  Lord  Maulevrier 

^  and  Mr.  Hammond,  the  dowager  seemed  almost  as  pleased  as 

^  her  granddaughter  at  the  arrival  of  the  young  men. 

^       As  for  Mary,  she  was  almost  beside  herself  with  joy  when  she 

^  heard  their  voices  from  the  lawn,  and,  rushing  to  the  shrubber}^, 

•  saw  them  walk  up  the  hill  as  she  had  seen  them  on  that  first 
evening  nearly  a  year  ago,  when  John  Hammond  came  as  a 
stranger  to  Fellside. 

She  tried  to  take  her  joy  soberly,  though  her  eyes  were  danc- 
ing with  delight,  as  she  went  to  the  porch  to  meet  them. 

"  What  extraordinary  young  men  you  are,"  she  said,  as  she 
emerged  breathless  from  her  lover's'  embrace.     "  The  idea  of 

'  your  descending  upon  us  without  a  moment's  notice.  Why  did 
you  not  write  or  telegraph,  that  your  rooms  might  be  ready." 

^'  "  Am  I  to  understand  that  all  the  spare  rooms  at  Fellside  are 
kept  as  damp  as  the  bottom  of  the  lake  ?  "  asked  Maulevrier. 

y^ "  I  did  not  think  any  preparation  was  necessary  ;  but  we  can  go 

^^back  if  we're  not  wanted,  can't  we,  Jack  ?  " 

M     u  You  darling,"  cried  Mary,  hanging  affectionately  upon  her 
.  brother's  arm.     "  You  know  I  was  only  joking,  you  know  how 

P^^enraptured  I  am  to  have  you." 

foi  a  -pQ  i^ave  me,  only  me,"  said  Maulevrier,  "  Jack  doesn't 
count,  I  suppose  ?  " 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  273 

"  You  know  how  glad  I  am,  and  that  I  want  to  hide  my  glad- 
ness," answered  Mary,  radiant  and  blushing  like  the  rich  red 
roses  in  the  porch.  "  You  men  are  so  vain.  And  now  come 
and  see  grandmother.  She  will  be  cheered  by  your  arrival. 
She  has  been  so  good  to  me  just  lately,  so  sweet." 

"  She  might  have  been  good  and  sweet  to  you  all  your  life," 
said  Hammond,  "  I  am  not  prepared  to  be  grateful  to  her  at  a 
moment's  notice  for  any  crumb  of  affection  she  may  throw  you." 

''Oh,  but  you  must  be  grateful,  sir,  and  you  must  love  and 
pity  her,"  retorted  Mary,  "  Think  how  sadly  she  has  suffered. 
We  cannot  be  too  kind  to  her,  or  too  fond  of  her,  poor  dear." 

"  Mary  is  right,"  said  Hammond,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  ear- 
nest,    *'  What  wonderful  instincts  these  young  women  have." 

"  Come  and  see  her  Ladyship  and  then  you  must  have  dinner, 
just  as  you  had  that  first  evening,"  said  Mary.  "  We'll  act  the 
first  evening  over  again,  Jack,  only  you  can't  fall  in  love  with 
Lesbia,  as  she  isn't  here." 

"  I  don't  think  I  surrendered  that  first  evening,  Mary. 
Though  I  thought  your  sister  the  loveliest  girl  I  had  ever  seen." 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  me,  sir ;  tell  me  that  ? "  said 
Mary, 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  tlie  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but 
the  truth  ? " 

''  Of  course." 

"  Then  I  freely  confess  that  I  did  not  think  about  you  at  all. 
You  were  there — a  pretty,  innocent,  bright  young  maiden,  with 
big  brown  eyes  and  auburn  hair;  but  I  thought  no  more  about 
you  than  I  did  about  the  Gainsborough  on  the  wall,  which  you 
very  much  resemble." 

^'That  is  very  humiliating,"  said  Mary,  pouting  a  little  in  the 
midst  of  her  bliss. 

"No,  dearest,  it  is  only  natural,"  answered  Hammond.  "  I 
beliene  if  all  the  happy  lovers  in  this  world  could  be  questioned, 
at  least  half  of  them  would  confess  to  having  thought  very  little 
about  each  other  at  first  meeting.  They  meet  and  touch  hands 
and  part  again,  and  never  guess  the  mystery  of  the  future,  which 
wraps  them  round  like  a  cloud;  never  say  of  each  other,  'There 
is  my  fate,'  and  then  they  meet  again  and  again,  as  hazard  wills, 
and  never  know  they  are  drifting  to  their  doom." 

Mary  rang  bells  and  gave  orders  just  as  she  had  done  in  that 
summer  gloaming  a  year  ago.  The  young  men  had  arrived  just 
at  the  same  hour,  on  the  stroke  of  nine,  when  the  eight  o'clock 
dinner  was  over  and  done  with,  for  a  tete-a-tete  meal  with  Frau- 
lein  Kirsch  was  not  a  feast  to  be  prolonged  on  account  of  its  fe- 
r8 


274 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


licity.     Perhaps  they  had  so   contrived  as  to  arrive   exactly  at 
this  hour. 

Lady  Maulevrier  received  them  both  with  extreme  cordiality. 
But  the  young  men  saw  a  change  for  the  worse  in  the  invalid 
since  the  Spring.  The  face  was  thinner,  the  eyes  too  bright, 
the  flush  upon  the  hollow  cheek  had  a  hectic  tinge,  the  voice 
was  feebler.  Hammond  was  reminded  of  a  falcon  or  an  eagle 
pining  and  wasting  in  a  cage. 

"  lam  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hammond,"  said  Lady  Mau- 
levrier, giving  him  her  hand  and  addressing  him  with  unwonted 
cordiality.  "  It  was  a  happy  thought  that  brought  you  and 
Maulevrier  here.  When  an  old  woman  is  as  near  the  grave  as 
I  am,  her  relatives  ought  to  look  after  her.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
have  a  little  private  conversation  with  you  to-morrow,  Mr.  Ham- 
mond, if  you  can  spare  me  a  few  minutes." 

'*  As  many  hours,  if  your  Ladyship  pleases,"  said  Hammond  ; 
"my  time  is  entirely  at  your  service." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  will  want  to  be  roaming  about  the  hills  with 
Mary,  discussing  your  plans  for  the  future.  I  shall  not  encroach 
too  much  on  your  time.     But  I  am  very  glad  you  are  here." 

"  We  shall  only  trespass  on  you  for  a  few  days,"  said  Maule- 
vrier ;  "  just  a  flying  visit." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  are  not  both  at  Henley  ?  "  asked  Mary. 
"  I  thought  all  the  world  was  at  Henley." 

"  Who  is  Henley  ?  What  is  Henley  t  "  demanded  Maulevrier, 
pretending  ignorance. 

"  I  believe  Maulevrier  has  lost  so  much  money  backing  his 
college  boat  on  previous  occasions  that  he  is  glad  to  run  away 
from  the  regatta  this  year,"  said  Hammond. 

"  I  have  a  sister  there,"  replied  his  friend.  "  That's  an  all- 
sufficient  explanation.  When  a  fellow's  womankind  take  to  go- 
ing to  races  and  regattas  it  is  high  time  for  him  to  stop  away." 

"Have  you  seen  Lesbia  lately  t  "  asked  his  grandmother. 

"About  ten  days  ago." 

"  And  did  she  seem  happy  ?  " 

Maulevrier  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  She  was  vacillating  between  the  refusal  or  the  acceptance 
of  a  million  of  money  and  four  or  five  new  houses;  I  don't  know 
whether  that  condition  of  mind  means  happiness.  I  should 
call  it  an  intermediate  state." 

"  Why  do  you  make  silly  jokes  about  serious  questions  ?  Do 
you  think  Le'sbia  means  to  accept  this  Mr.  Smithson  ?  " 

"  All  London  thinks  so." 

"  And  is  he  a  ^ood  man  ?  " 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  -75 

"Good  for  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  at  half  an  hour's 
notice." 

"  Is  he  worthy  of  your  sister  ?  " 

Maulevrier  paused,  looked  at  his  grandmother  with  a  curious 
expression,  and  then  replied  : 

"  I  think  he  is — quite." 

"  Then  I  am  content  that  she  should  marry  him,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier,  "  although  he  is  a  nobody." 

"  Oh,  but  he  is  a  very  important  nobody,  a  nobody  who  can 
get  a  peerage  next  year,  backed  by  the  Maulevrier  influence, 
which  I  suppose  would  count  for  something." 

"  Most  of  my  friends  are  dead,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  "  but 
there  are  a  few  survivors  of  the  past  who  might  help  me." 

"  I  don't  think  there'll  be  any  difficulty  about  the  peerage. 
Smithson  stumped  up  very  handsomely  at  the  last  general  elec- 
tion, and  the  Conservatives  are  not  strong  enough  to  be  un- 
grateful." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WAYS    AND    MEANS. 

The  three  days  that  followed  were  among  the  happiest  days 
of  Mary  Haselden's  young  life.  Lady  Maulevrier  had  become 
strangely  indulgent.  A  softening  influence  of  some  kind  had 
worked  upon  that  haughty  spirit,  and  it  seemed  as  if  her  whole 
nature  was  changed — or  it  might  be,  Mary  thought,  that  this 
softer  side  of  her  character  had  always  been  turned  to  Lesbia, 
while  to  Mary  herself  it  was  altogether  new.  Lesbia  had  been 
the  peach  on  the  sunny  southern  wall,  ripening  and  reddening 
in  a  flood  of  sunshine  ;  Mary  had  been  the  stunted  fruit  growing 
in  a  northeast  corner,  hidden  among  leaves,  blown  upon  by  cold 
winds,  green  and  hard  and  sour  for  lack  of  the  warm  bright  light. 
And  now  Mary  felt  the  sunshine,  and  grew  glad  and  gay  in  those 
glowing  beams. 

"  Dear  grandmamma,  I  believe  you  are  beginning  to  love  me," 
she  said,  bending  over  to  arrange  the  invalid's  pillows  in  the 
July  morning,  the  fresh  mountain  air  blowing  in  upon  old  and 
young  from  the  great  open  window,  like  a  caress. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  know  you,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier 
gently.  "  I  think  it  is  the  magic  of  love,  Mary,  that  has  sweet- 
ened and  softened  your  nature  and  endeared  you  to  me.     I  think 


276  rilANTOM  FORTUNE. 

you  have  grown  ever  so  much  sweeter  a  girl  since  your  engage- 
ment.  Or  it  may  be  that  you  were  the  same  always,  and  it  was 
I  who  was  blind.  Lesbia  was  all  in  all  to  me.  All  in  all — and 
now  I  am  nothing  to  her,"  she  murmured  to  herself  rather  than 
to  Mary. 

"  I  am  so  proud  to  think  that  you  see  an  improvement  in  me 
since  my  engagement,"  said  Mary  modestly.  "  I  have  tried  very 
hard  to  improve  myself  so  that  I  might  be  more  worthy  of  him." 
"  You  are  worthy,  Mary,  worthy  of  the  best  and  the  highest, 
and  I  believe  that  although  you  are  making  what  the  world  calls 
a  very  bad  match,  you  are  marrying  wisely.  You  are  wedding 
yourself  to  a  life  of  obscurity;  but  what  does  that  matter,  if  it 
be  a  happy  life  ?  I  have  known  what  it  is  to  pursue  the  phan- 
tom, fortune,  and  to  find  youth  and  hope  and  happiness  vanish 
from  the  pathway  which  I  followed." 

"  Dear  grandmother,  I  wish  you  had  been  able  to  marry  the 
man  of  your  choice,"  answered  Mary,  tenderly. 

She  was  ready  to  weep  over  that  wasted  life  of  her  grand- 
mother's ;  to  weep  for  that  forced  parting  of  true  lovers'  albeit 
the  tragedy  was  half  a  century  old. 

"  I  should  have  been  a  happier  woman  and  a  better  woman  if 
fate  had  been  kind  to  me,  Mary,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier, 
<^ravely,  "  and  now  that  I  am  daily  drawing  nearer  the  land  of 
shadows  I  will  not  stand  in  the  way  of  faithful  lovers.  I  have  a 
fancy,  Mary,  that  I  have  not  many  months  to  live." 

"  Only  an  invalid's  fancy,"  said  Mary,  stooping  down  to  kiss 
the  pale  forehead,  so  full  of  thought  and  care,  "  only  a  morbid 
fancy,  nursed  in  the  monotony  of  this  quiet  mom.  Maulevrier 
and  Jack  and  I  must  find  some  way  of  amusing  you." 

"  You  will  never  amuse  me  out  of  that  conviction,  Mary,  my 
dear.  I  can  see  the  shadows  lengthening  and  the  sands  run- 
ning out.  There  are  but  a  few  grains  left  in  the  glass,  Mary, 
and  while  those  last  I  should  like  to  see  you  and  Mr.  Hammond 
married.  I  should  like  to  feel  that  your  fate  is  settled  before  I 
go.  God  knows  what  confusion  and  trouble  may  follow  my 
death." 

This  was  said  with  the  sharp  ring  of  despair. 
"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you,  grandmamma,"  said  Mary. 
"  Not  even  for  the   man  you    love  ?     You  are  a  good  girl, 
Mary.     Lesbia  has  forsaken  me  for  a  lesser  temptation." 

"  Grandmamma,  that  is  hardly  fair.  It  was  your  own  wish  to 
have  Lesbia  presented  this  season,"  remonstrated  Mary,  loyal 
to  the  absent. 

"  True,  mv  dear.     I  saw  she  was  very  tired  of  her  life  here. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  277 

and  I  thought  it  was  better.  But  I'm  sorely  afraid  London  has 
s'poiled  her.  No,  Mary,  you  can  stay  with  me  to  the  end  if  you 
like.  There  is  room  enough  for  you  and  your  husband  under 
this  roof.  I  like  this  Mr.  Hammond.  His  is  the  only  face 
that  ever  recalled  the  face  of  the  dead.  Yes,  I  like  him, 
and  although  I  know  nothing  about  him  except  what  Maule- 
vrier  tells  me — and  that  is  of  the  scantiest — still  I  feel,  somehow, 
that  I  can  trust  him.  Send  your  lover  to  me,  Mary,  I  want  to 
have  a  serious  talk  with  him." 

Mary  ran  off  to  obey,  fluttering,  blushing  and  trembling. 
This  idea  of  marriage  in  the  immediate  future  was  to  the  last 
degree  startling.  A  year  had  seemed  a  very  long  time,  and  she 
had  been  told  that  she  and  her  lover  must  wait  a  year,  at  the 
very  least;  so  that  marriage  had  seemed  afar  off  in  the  dim 
shadowland  of  the  future.  She  had  been  told  nothing  by  her 
lover  of  where  she  was  to  live  or  what  her  Ufe  was  to  be  like 
when  she  was  his  wife.  And  now  she  was  told  that  they  were 
to  be  married  almost  immediately,  and  they  were  to  live  in  the 
house  where  she  had  been  reared,  in  that  familiar  land  of  hills 
and  waters,  that  they  were  to  roam  about  the  dales  and  mount- 
ains together,  they  two,  as  man  and  wife.  The  whole  thing 
was  wonderful,  bewildering,  impossible  almost. 

This  was  on  the  first  morning  after  Mr.  Hammond's  arrival. 
Maulevrier  had  gone  off  to  hunt  the  Rotha  for  otters,  and  was 
up  to  his  waist  in  the  water,  no  doubt,  by  this  time.  Ham- 
mond was  strolling  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  front  of  the 
house,  looking  at  the  green  expanse  of  Fairfield,  the  dark  bulk 
of  Seat  Sandal,  the  nearer  crests  of  Helm  Crag  and  Silver 
Howe. 

"  You  are  to  come  to  her  Ladyship  directly,  please,"  said 
Mary,  going  up  to  him. 

He  took  both  her  hands,  drew  her  near  to  him,  smiling  dovm 
at  her.  They  had  been  sitting  side  by  side  at  the  breakfast 
table  half  an  hour  ago,  he  waiting  upon  her  as  she  poured  out 
the  tea ;  yet  by  his  tender  greeting  and  the  delight  in  his  face 
it  might  have  been  supposed  they  had  not  met  for  weeks.  Such 
are  the  sweet  inanities  of  love. 

"  What  does  her  Ladyship  want  with  me,  darling,  and  why  are 
you  blushing  t  "  he  asked. 

"  I — I  think  she  is  going  to  talk  about — our — marriage,"  fal- 
tered Mary. 

"  Why,  i  will  talk  to  her  upon  this  theme  until  mine  eyelids 
can  no  longer  wag,"  quoted  Hammond.  "  Take  me  to  her, 
Mary.     I  hope  her  Ladyship  is  growing  sensible." 


278  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  She  is  very  kind — very  sweet.  She  has  changed  so  much 
of  late." 

Mary  went  with  him  to  the  door  of  her  Ladyship's  sitting-room 
and  there  left  him  to  go  in  alone.  She  went  to  the  library — 
that  room  over  which  a  gloomy  shadow  seemed  to  have  hung 
ever  since  that  awful  winter  afternoon  when  Mary  found  Lady 
Maulevrier  lying  on  the  floor  in  the  twilight.  But  it  was  a  no- 
ble room,  and  in  her  studious  hours  Mary  loved  to  sit  here, 
walled  round  with  books,  and  able  to  consult  or  dip  into  as 
many  volumes  as  she  liked.  To-day,  however,  her  mind  was  not 
attuned  to  study.  She  sat  with  a  volume  of  Macaulay  open 
before  her,  but  her  thoughts  were  not  with  the  author.  She  was 
wondering  what  those  two  were  saying  in  the  room  overhead, 
and  finding  all  attempts  at  reading  futile,  she  let  her  head  sink 
back  upon  the  cushion  of  her  deep  luxurious  chair,  and  sat  with 
her  dreamy  eyes  fixed  on  the  summer  landscape  and  her  thoughts 
with  her  lover. 

Lady  Maulevrier  looked  very  wan  and  tired  in  the  bright 
morning  light  when  Mr.  Hammond  seated  himself  beside  her 
sofa.  The  change  in  her  appearance  since  the  Spring  was 
more  marked  to-day  than  it  had  seemed  to  him  last  night  in  the 
dim  lamplight.  Yes,  there  was  need  here  for  a  speedy  settle- 
ment of  all  earthly  matters.  The  traveler  was  nearing  the  mys- 
terious end  of  the  journey.  The  summons  might  come  at  any 
hour. 

"  Mr.  Hammond,  I  feel  a  confidence  in  your  integrit}^  your 
goodness  of  heart,  and  high  principle  which  I  never  thought  I 
could  feel  for  a  man  of  whom  I  know  so  little,"  began  Lady 
Maulevrier  gravely.  "  All  I  know  of  your  antecedents  is  what 
my  grandson  has  told  me — and  I  must  say  that  the  information 
so  given  has  been  very  meager.  And  yet  I  believe  in  you — and 
yet  I  am  going  to  trust  you,  wholly,  blindly,  implicitly — and  I 
am  going  to  give  you  my  granddaughter,  ever  so  much  sooner 
than  I  intended  to  give  her  to  you.  Soon,  very  soon,  if  you 
will  have  her  !  " 

*'  I  will  have  her  to-morrow,  if  I  can  get  a  special  license," 
exclaimed  Hammond,  bending  down  to  kiss  the  Dowager's  hand, 
radiant  with  delight. 

"  You  shall  marry  her  next  week,  if  you  like,  marry  her  by  spe- 
cial license,  in  this  room.  I  should  like  to  see  your  wedding. 
1  have  a  strange  impression  to  behold  one  of  my  granddaughters 
happily  married,  to  know  that  her  future  is  secure,  that  come 
weal,  come  woe,  she  is  safe  in  the  protection  of  a  brave,  true 
man.     I  am  not  scared  by  the  idea  of  a  little  poverty.     That  is 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  279 

often  the  best  education  for  youth.  But  while  you  and  I  are 
alone  we  may  talk  about  ways  and  means.  Perhaps  you  may 
hardly  feel  prepared  to  take  upon  yourself  the  burden  of  a  wife 
this  year." 

"  As  well  this  year  as  next.    I  am  not  afraid." 

"  Young  men  are  so  rash.  However,  as  long  as  I  live  your  re- 
sponsibilities will  be  only  nominal.  This  house  will  be  Mary's 
home,  and  yours  whenever  you  are  able  to  occupy  it.  Of  course 
I  should  not  like  to  interfere  with  your  professional  efforts — but 
if  you  are  cultivating  literature — why  books  can  be  written  at 
FeHside  better  than  in  London.  This  lakeland  of  ours  has 
been  the  nursery  of  deathless  writers.  But  I  feel  that  my  days 
are  numbered — and  when  I  am  dead — well,  a  death  is  always  a 
cause  of  change  and  trouble  of  some  kind,  and  Mary  will  profit 
very  little  by  my  death.  The  bulk  of  my  fortune  is  left  to  Les- 
bia.  I  have  taught  her  to  consider  herself  my  heiress,  and  it 
would  be  unjust  to  alter  my  will." 

"  Pray  do  not  dream  of  such  a  thing — there  is  no  need — Mary 
will  be  rich  enough,"  exclaimed  Hammond  hastily. 

"  With  five  hundred  a  year  and  the  fruits  of  your  industry," 
said  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  Yes,  yes,  with  modest  aspirations  and 
simple  habits,  people  can  live  happily,  honorably,  on  a  few  hun- 
dreds a  year.  And  if  you  really  mean  to  devote  yourself  to  lit- 
erature, and  do  not  mind  burying  yourself  alive  in  this  lake  dis- 
trict until  you  have  made  your  name  as  a  writer,  why  the  prob- 
lem of  ways  and  means  will  be  easily  solved." 

\"  Dear  Lady  Maulevrier,  I  am  not  afraid  of  ways  and  means. 
That  is  the  last  question  that  need  trouble  you.  I  told  Lesbia, 
when  I  offered  myself  to  her  nearly  a  year  ago,  that  if  she  would 
trust  me,  if  she  would  cleave  to  me,  poverty  should  never  touch 
her,  sordid  care  should  never  come  near  her  dwelling.  But  she 
could  not  believe  me.  She  was  like  Thomas  the  twin.  I  could 
show  her  no  palpable  security  for  the  promise — and  she  would 
not  believe  for  the  promise  sake.  Mary  trusted  me,  and  Mary 
shall  not  regret  her  confidence." 

"  Ah,  it  was  different  with  Lesbia,"  sighed  Lady  Maulevrier. 
"  I  taught  her  to  be  ambitious.  She  had  been  schooled  to  set 
a  high  price  upon  herself.  I  know  she  cared  for  you — very  much, 
even.  But  she  could  not  face  poverty  ;  or,  if  you  like,  I  will  say 
that  she  could  not  face  an  obscure  existence — sacrifice  her  ambi- 
tion, a  justifiable  ambition  in  one  so  lovely,  at  the  bidding  of  her 
wooer.  And  then,  again,  she  was  told  that  if  she  married  you  she 
would  forever  forfeit  my  regard.  You  must  not  blame  her  for 
obeying  me." 


28o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

*'  I  do  not  blame  her,  for  I  have  won  the  peerless  pearl — the 
jewel  above  all  price — a  perfect  woman.  And  now,  dear  Lady 
Maulevrier,  give  me  but  your  consent,  and  I  am  off  to  York 
this  afternoon,  to  interview  the  Archbishop  and  get  the  special 
license,  which  will  allow  me  to  wed  my  darling  here  by  your 
couch  to-morrow  afternoon." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  your  getting  the  license  immediately; 
but  you  must  let  me  write  a  check  before  you  go.  A  special  li- 
cense is  expensive — I  believe  it  costs  fifty  pounds." 

"  If  it  cost  a  thousand  I  should  not  think  it  dear.  You  have 
made  me  wild  with  happiness." 

"  But  you  must  not  refuse  ray  check." 

"  Indeed  I  must.  Lady  Maulevrier.  I  am  not  quite  such  a 
pauper  as  you  think  me." 

"  But  fifty  pounds  and  the  expense  of  the  journey  ;  an  outlay 
altogether  unexpected  on  your  part.  I  begin  to  fear  that  you 
are  very  reckless.  A  spendthrift  shall  never  marry  my  grand- 
daughter with  my  consent." 

"  I  have  never  yet  spent  above  half  my  income." 

Lady  Maulevrier  looked  at  him  in  wonderment  and  perplexity. 
Had  the  young  man  gone  suddenly  out  of  his  mind,  overwhelmed 
by  the  greatness  of  his  bliss  1 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  poor,"  she  faltered. 

"  It  has  pleased  you  to  think  so,  dear  Lady  Maulevrier  ;  but 
I  have  more  than  enough  for  all  my  wants,  and  I  shall  be 
able  to  provide  a  fitting  home  for  Mary,  when  you  can  spare  her 
to  preside  over  her  own  establishment." 

"  Establishment  "  is  rather  a  big  word,  but  Lady  Maulevrier 
supposed  that  in  this  case  it  meant  a  cook  and  housemaid,  with 
perhaps  later  on  a  boy  in  buttons  to  break  windows  and  block 
the  pantry  sink  with  missing  teaspoons. 

"  Well  Mr.  Hammond,  this  is  quite  an  agreeable  surprise," 
she  said,  after  a  brief  silence.  "  I  really  thought  you  were  poor — 
as  poor  as  a  young  man  of  gentlemanlike  habits  could  be,  and 
yet  exists  Perhaps  you  will  wonder  why,  thinking  this,  I 
brought  myself  to  consent  to  your  marriage  with  my  grand- 
daughter." 

"  It  was  a  great  proof  of  your  confidence  in  m.e,  or  in  Provi- 
dence," replied  Hammond  smilmg. 

"  It  was  no  such  thing.  I  was  governed  by  a  sentiment — a 
memory.  It  was  my  love  for  the  dead  which  softened  my  heart 
toward  you,  John  Hammond." 

"Indeed,"  he  murmured  softly. 

"  There  was  but  one  man  in  this  world  I  ever  fondly  loved — 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  281 

the  love  of  my  youth — my  dearest  and  best,  in  the  days  when 
my  heart  was  fresh  and  innocent  and  unambitious.  The  man 
was  Ronald  Hollister,  afterward  Lord  Hartfield,  and  yours  is  the 
only  face  that  ever  recalled  his  to  my  mind.  It  is  only  a  vague 
likeness — a  look  now  and  then  ;  but  slight  as  that  likeness  is  it 
has  been  enough  to  make  my  heart  yearn  towards  you  as  the 
heart  of  a  mother  to  her  son." 

John  Hammond  knelt  beside  the  sofa,  and  bent  his  handsome 
face  over  the  pale  face  on  the  pillow,  imprinting  such  a  kiss  as  a 
son  might  have  given.     His  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Dear  Lady  Maulevrier,  think  that  it  is  the  spirit  of  the  dead 
which  thanks  you  for  your  fidelity  to  old  memories,"  he  said 
softly. 


CHAPTER   :^XXHL 

THY    LOVE    IS    BETTER   THAN    HIGH    BIRTH    TO   ME. 

After  that  interview  with  John  Hammond  all  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  marriage  were  planned  by  Lady  Maulevrier  with 
a  calm  and  business-like  capacity  which  seemed  extraordinary 
in  one  so  frail  and  helpless.  For  a  little  while  after  Hammond 
left  her  she  remained  lost  in  a  reverie,  deeply  affected  by  the 
speech  and  manner  of  her  granddaughter's  lover  as  he  gave  her 
that  first  kiss  of  duty  and  affection,  the  affection  of  one  who  in 
that  act  declared  the  allegiance  of  a  close  and  holy  bond. 

Yes,  she  told  herself,  this  marriage,  humble  as  it  might  be, 
w^as  altogether  satisfactory.  Her  own  feeling  toward  the  man 
of  her  granddaughter's  choice  was  one  of  instinctive  affection. 
Her  heart  had  yearned  to  him  from  the  beginning  of  their 
acquaintance ;  but  she  had  schooled  herself  to  hide  all  indica- 
tions of  her  liking  for  him,  she  had  made  every  effort  to  keep 
him  at  a  distance,  deeming  his  very  merits  a  source  of  danger 
in  a  household  where  there  were  two  fresh  impressionable  girls. 

And  despite  all  her  caution  and  care  he  had  succeeded  in 
wdnning  one  of  those  girls;  and  she  was  glad,  very  glad,  that 
he  had  so  succeeded  in  baffiing  her  prudence.  And  now  jt 
was  agreeable  to  discover  that  he  was  not  quite  such  a  pauper 
as  she  had  supposed  him  to  be. 

Her  heart  felt  lighter  than  it  had  been  for  some  time  when 
she  set  about  planning  the  wedding. 

The  first  step  in  the  business  was  to  send  for  James  Stead- 
man. 


282  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

He  came  immediately,  grave  and  quiet  as  of  old,  and  stood 
with  his  serious  eyes  bent  upon  the  face  of  his  mistress,  await- 
ing her  instructions. 

"  Lady  Mary  is  going  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Hammond,  by 
special  license,  in  this  room,  to-morrow  afternoon,  if  it  can  be 
managed  so  soon,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  my  Lady,"  answered  Steadman, 
without  the  faintest  indication  of  surprise. 

"  Why  are  you  so — particularly  glad  \  "  asked  his  mistress, 
looking  at  him  sharply. 

"  Because  Lady  Mary's  presence  in  this  house  is  a  source  of 
danger  to — your  arrangements.  She  is  very  energetic  and 
enterprising — very  shrewxl — and — well,  she  is  a  woman — so  I 
suppose  there  can  be  no  harm  in  saying  she  is  somewhat  inquis- 
itive. Things  will  be  much  safer  here  when  Lady  Mary  is 
gone !  " 

"  But  she  will  not  be  gone — she  is  not  going  away — except 
for  a  very  brief  honeymoon.  I  cannot  possibly  do  without  her. 
she  has  become  necessary  to  my  life,  Steadman  ;  and  there  is 
so  little  left  of  that  life  now  rhat  there  is  no  need  for  me  to 
sacrifice  the  last  gleams  of  sunshine.  The  girl  is  very  sweet, 
and  loving  and  true.  I  was  not  half  fond  enough  of  her  in  the 
past,  but  she  has  made  herself  very  dear  to  me  of  late.  There 
are  many  things  in  this  life,  Steadman,  which  we  only  find  out 
too  late." 

"  But  surely,  my  Lady,  Lady  Mary  will  leave  Fellside  to  go  to 
a  home  of  her  own  after  her  marriage."     . 

"  No,  I  tell  you,  Steadman,"  his  mistress  answered,  with  a 
touch  of  impatience.  "  Lady  Mary  and  her  husband  will  make 
this  house  their  home  so  long  as  1  am  here.  It  will  not  be 
long." 

"  God  grant  it  may  be  very  long  before  you  cease  to  be  mis- 
tress here,  my  Lady,"  answered  Steadman,  with  real  feeling, 
and  then  in  a  lower  tone  he  went  on  :  "  Pardon  me,  my  Lady, 
for  the  suggestion,  but  do  you  think  it  is  wdse  to  have  Mr. 
Hammond  here  as  a  resident  ?  " 

"  Why  should  it  not  be  wise  ?  Mr.  Hammond  is  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  True,  my  Lady  ;  but  an}'  accident  such  as  that  which  brought 
Lady  Mary  into  the  old  garden — " 

"  No  such  accident  need  occur — it  must  not  occur,  Stead- 
man," exclaimed  Lady  Maulevrier,  with  kindling  eyes.  She 
who  had  so  long  ruled  supreme  w^as  not  inclined  to  have  any 
desire  of  hers  questioned.     "There  must  have  been  gross  care- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  2S3 

lessness  that  day — carelessness  on  ycur  part — or  that  stable 
door  would  never  have  been  left  open.  The  key  ought  to  have 
been  in  your  possession.  It  ought  not  to  have  been  in  the 
power  of  the  stablemen  to  open  that  door.  As  to  Mr.  Ham- 
mond's presence  at  Fellside,  I  cannot  see  any  danger — any  rea- 
son why  harm  should  come  of  it  more  than  of  Lord  Maulevrier's 
presence  here  in  the  past." 

"  The  two  gentlemen  are  so  different,  my  Lady,"  said  Stead- 
man,  with  a  gloomy  brow.  "  His  Lordship  is  so  light-hearted 
and  careless,  his  mind  taken  up  with  his  horses,  guns,  dogs, 
fishing,  shooting,  and  all  kinds  of  sport.  He  is  not  a  gentle- 
man to  take  much  notice  of  anything  out  of  his  own  line. 
But  this  Mr.  Hammond  is  different — a  very  thoughtful  gentle- 
man, an  inquiring  mind,  as  one  may  say." 

''  Steadman,  you  are  getting  cowardly  in  your  old  age.  The 
danger— such  a  risk  as  you  hint  at,  must  be  growing  less  and 
less  every  day.     After  forty  years  of  security — " 

"Security!"  echoed  Steadman,  with  a  monosyllabic  laugh 
which  expressed  intense  bitterness.  "  Say  forty  years  during 
which  I  have  felt  myself  upon  the  edge  of  a  precipice  every  day 
and  every  hour.  Security  !  But  perhaps  you  are  right,  my  Lady. 
I  am  growing  old  and  nervous,  a  feebler  man  than  I  was  a  few 
years  ago,  feebler  in  body  and  mind.  Let  Mr.  Hammond  make 
his  home  here,  if  it  pleases  your  Ladyship  to  have  him.  So 
long  as  I  am  well  and  able  to  get  about  there  can  be  no  dan- 
ger of  anything  awkward  happening  !  " 

Lady  Maulevrier  looked  alarmed. 

"  But  you  have  no  expectation  of  falling  ill,  I  hope,  Steadman ; 
you  have  no  premonition  of  any  malady  ? " 

"No,  my  Lady,  none — except  the  malady  of  old  age.  I  feel 
that  I  am  not  the  man  I  once  was,  that  is  all.  And  if  I  were  to 
fall  ill  suddenly—" 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  terrible,  it  would  be  a  dire  calamity  !  There 
is  your  wife,  certainly,  to  look  after  things,  but — " 

"  My  wife  would  do  her  best,  my  Lady.  She  is  a  faithful  creat- 
ure, but  she  is  not — yes,  without  any  unkindness  I  must  say 
that  Mrs.  Steadman  is  not  a  genius ! " 

"  Oh,  Steadman,  you  must  not  fail  me  !  I  am  horror-stricken 
at  the  mere  idea,"  exclaimed  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  After  forty 
years — great  God  !  it  would  be  terrible.  Lesbia,  Mary,  Maule- 
vrier !  the  great,  malignant,  babbling  world  outside  these  doors. 
I  am  hemmed  round  with  perils.  For  God's  sake  preserve  your 
strength,  take  care  of  your  health.  You  are  my  strong  rock.  If 
you  feel   that  there  is   anything  amiss  with  you,  or   that  your 


284  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Strength  is  failing,  consult  Mr.  Horton — neglect  no  precaution. 
The  safety  of  this  house,  of  the  family  honor,  hangs  upon  you." 

"  Pray  do  not  agitate  yourself,  my  Lady,"  entreated  Stead- 
man.  "  I  was  wrong  to  trouble  you  with  my  fears.  I  shall  not 
fail  you,  be  sure.  Although  I  am  getting  old  I  shall  hold  out 
till  the  end." 

"  The  end  cannot  be  very  far  off,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier, 
gloomily. 

"  I  thought  that  forty  years  ago,  my  Lady.  But  you  are  right 
— the  end  must  be  near  now.  Yes,  it  must  be  near.  And  now, 
my  Lady,  your  orders  about  the  wedding." 

"  It  will  take  place  to-morrow,  as  I  told  you,  in  this  room. 
You  will  go  to  the  Vicar  and  ask  him  to  officiate.  His  two 
daughters  will  no  doubt  consent  to  be  Lady  Mary's  bridesmaids. 
You  will  make  the  request  in  my  name.  Perhaps  the  Vicar  will 
call  this  afternoon  and  talk  matters  over  with  me.  Lady  Mary 
and  her  husband  will  go  to  Cumberland  for  a  brief  honeymoon 
— a  week  at  most — and  then  they  will  come  back  to  Fellside. 
Tell  Plalcott  to  prepare  the  east  wing  for  them.  She  will  make 
one  of  the  rooms  Into  a  boudoir  for  Lady  Mary,  and  let  every- 
thing be  as  bright  and  pretty  as  good  taste  can  make  it.  She 
can  telegraph  to  London  for  any  new  furniture  that  may  be 
wanted  to  complete  her  arrangements.  And  now  send  Lady 
Mary  to  me." 

Mary  came  fresh  from  the  pinewood,  where  she  had  been 
walking  with  her  lover ;  her  lover  of  to-day,  her  husband  to-mor- 
row. He  had  told  her  how  he  was  to  start  for  York  directly 
after  luncheon,  and  to  come  back  by  the  earliest  train  next  day, 
and  how  they  two  were  to  be  married  to-morrow  afternoon. 

"  It  is  more  wonderful  than  any  dream  that  I  ever  dreamt," 
exclaimed  Mary  ;  "  But  how  can  it  be  ?  I  have  not  even  a  wed- 
ding gown." 

"""A  fig  for  wedding  gowns  !  It  is  Mary  I  am  to  wed,  not  her 
gown.  Were  you  clad  like  patient  Grisel  I  should  be  content. 
Besides,  you  have  no  end  of  pretty  gowns.  And  you  are  to  be 
dressed  for  traveling,  remember,  for  I  am  going  to  carry  you  off 
to  Lodore  directly  we  are  married,  and  you  will  have  to  clamber 
up  the  rocky  bed  of  the  waterfall  to  see  the  sun  set  behind  Gris- 
dale  Park  in  your  wedding  gov/n.  It  had  better  be  one  of  those 
neat  little  tailor  gowns  which  become  you  so  well." 

"  I  will  wear  whatever  you  tell  me,"  answered  Mary  "  I  shall 
always  dress  to  please  you,  and  not  the  outside  world." 

"  Will  you,  my  Griselda  ?  Some  day  you  shall  be  dressed  as 
Grisel  was — 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  285 

"  *  In  a  cloth  of  gold  that  brighte  shone, 
With  a  coroune  of  many  a  riche  stone.'  '* 

"  Yes,  you  darling,  when  you  are  Lord  Chancellor ;  and  till 
that  day  comes  I  will  wear  tailor  gowns,  linsey-woolsey,  anything 
you  like,"  cried  Mary,  laughing. 

She  ran  to  her  grandmother's  room,  ineffably  content,  without 
a  thought  of  trousseau  or  finery;  but  then  Mary  Haselden  was 
one  of  those  few  young  women  for  whom  life  is  not  a  question 
of  fashionable  raiment. 

"  Mary,  I  am  going  to  send  you  off  upon  your  honeymoon  to- 
morrow afternoon,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier,  smiling  at  the  bright 
happy  face  which  was  bent  over  her.  "  Will  you  come  back  and 
nurse  a  fretful  old  woman  when  the  honeymoon  is  over  1  " 

"  The  honeymoon  will  never  be  over,"  answered  Mary,  joy- 
ously. "  Our  wedded  life  is  to  be  one  long  honeymoon.  But 
I  will  come  back  in  a  very  few  days  and  take  care  of  you.  I 
am  not  going  to  let  you  do  without  me  now  that  you  have  learned 
to  love  me." 

"  And  you  will  be  content  to  stay  with  me  when  your  husband 
has  gone  to  London  ?  " 

''  Yes ;  but  I  shall  try  to  prevent  his  going  veiy  often  or  stay- 
ing very  long.  I  shall  try  to  wind  myself  into  his  heart,  so  that 
there  will  be  an  aching  void  there  when  we  are  parted." 

Lady  Maulevrier  proceeded  to  tell  Mary  all  her  arrangements. 
Three  handsome  rooms  in  the  east  wing,  a  bed-room,  dressing- 
room  and  boudoir  were  to  be  made  ready  for  the  new-married 
couple.  Fraulein  Kirsch  was  to  be  dismissed  with  a  retiring, 
pension,  in  order  that  Lady  Mary  and  her  husband  might  feel 
themselves  master  and  mistress  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house. 

"  And  if  your  husband  really  means  to  devote  himself  to  lit- 
erature he  can  have  no  better  workshop  than  the  library  I  have 
put  together,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier. 

"  And  no  better  adviser  and  guide  than  you,  dear  grandmother, 
you  that  have  read  everything  that  has  been  written  worth  read- 
ing during  the  last  half  century." 

"  I  have  read  a  great  deal,  Mary,  but  I  hardly  know  if  I  am 
wiser  on  that  account,"  answered  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  After  all, 
however  much  of  other  people's  wisdom  we  may  devour,  it  is  in 
ourselves  that  we  are  thus  or  thus.  Our  past  follies  rise  up 
against  us  at  the  end  of  life,  and  we  see  how  little  our  book 
learning  has  helped  us  to  stand  against  foolish  impulses,  against 
evil  passions.  '  Be  good,  Mary,  and  let  who  will  be  wise,'  as 
the  poet  says.     A  faithful  heart  is  your  only  anchor  in  the  stormy 


286  '  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

scenes  of  life.  Mv  dear,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

"It  is  very  sudden,"  said  Mary. 

"  Very  sudden  ;  yet  in  your  case  that  does  not  much  matter. 
You  had  quite  made  up  your  mind  about  Mr.  Hammond,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Made  up  my  mind  !  I  began  to  worship  him  the  first  night 
he  came  here." 

"  Foolish  child  !  Well,  there  is  no  need  to  wait  for  settle- 
ments. You  have  only  your  allowance  as  Lord  Maulevrier's 
daughter — a  first  charge  on  the  estate,  which  cannot  be  made 
away  with  or  anticipated,  and  of  which  no  husband  can  deprive 
you." 

"  He  shall  have  every  sixpence  of  it,"  murmured  Mary. 

"And  Mr.  Hammond,  though  he  tells  me  he  is  better  off 
than  I  supposed,  can  have  nothing  to  settle.  So  there  will  be 
nothing  forfeited  by  a  marriage  without  settlements." 

Mary  could  not  enter  upon  the  question.  It  was  even  of  less 
importance  than  the  wedding  gown. 

The  gong  sounded  for  luncheon. 

"  Steadman's  dog-cart  is  to  take  Mr.  Hammond  to  the  station 
at  half-past  two,"  said  Lady  Mauievrier,  "so  you  had  better  go 
and  give  him  his  luncheon." 

Mary  needed  no  second  bidding.  She  flew  downstairs  and 
met  her  lover  in  the  hall. 

What  a  happy  luncheon  it  was.  Fraulein  munched,  and 
munched,  and  munched,  like  the  sailor's  wife  eating  chestnuts, 
but  those  two  lovers  lunched  upon  moonshine,  upon  each  other's 
little  words  and  little  looks,  upon  their  own  ineffable  bliss. 
They  sat  side  by  side  and  helped  each  other  to  the  nicest 
things  on  the  table,  but  neither  could  eat,  and  they  got  consid- 
erably mixed  in  their  way  of  eating,  taking  chutnee  with  straw- 
berry cream  and  currant  jelly  with  asparagus.  What  did  it 
matter  .?     Everything  tasted  of  bliss. 

"You  have  had  absolutely  nothing  to  eat,"  said  Mary,  pite- 
ously,  as  the  dog-cart  came  grinding  round  upon  the  dry  gravel. 

"Oh,  I  have  done  splendidly — thanks,  I  have  just  had  a 
macaroon  and  some  of  that  capital  gorgonzola.  God  bless  you, 
dearest,  and  a  revoir,  a  revoir  till  to-morrow." 

"  And  to-morrow  I  shall  be  Mary  Hammond,"  cried  Mary, 
clasping  her  hands.     "  Isn't  it  capital  fun  ?  " 

They  were  in  the  porch  alone.  The  servants  were  all  at  din- 
ner, save  the  groom  with  the  cart.  Miss  Kirsch  was  still 
munching  at  the  well-spread  table  in  the  dining-room. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  .-^87 

John  Hammond  folded  his  sweetheart  in  his  arms,  for  one 
brief  embrace  ;  there  was  no  time  for  loitering.  In  another  mo- 
ment he  was  springing  into  the  cart.  A  shake  of  the  reins,  and 
he  was  driving  slowly  down  the  steep  avenue. 

"Life  is  full  of  partings,"  Mary  said  to  herself,  as  she 
watched  the  last  glimpse  of  the  dog-cart  between  the  trees  down 
in  the  road  below,  "but  this  one  is  to  be  very  short,  thank  God.'' 

She  wondered  what  she  should  do  with  herself  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon,  and  finally,  finding  that  she  was  not  wanted  by 
her  grandmother  until  afternoon  tea,  she  set  out  upon  a  round 
of  visits  to  her  favorite  cottagers,  to  bid  them  a  long  farewell  as 
a  spinster. 

"  You'll  be  away  a  long  time,  I  suppose.  Lady  Mary  ? ''  said 
one  of  her  humble  friends.  "  You'll  be  going  to  Switzerland 
or  Italy,  or  some  of  those  foreign  parts,  where  great  ladies  and 
gentlemen  travel  for  their  honeymoons  }  " 

But  Mary  declared  that  she  would  be  absent  a  week  at  long- 
est. She  was  coming  back  to  take  care  of  her  invalid  grand- 
mother, and  she  was  not  going  to  marry  a  great  gentleman,  but 
a  man  who  would  have  to  work  for  his  living. 

She  went  back  to  Fellside  and  read  the  Times,  and  poured 
out  Lady  Maulevrier's  tea,  and  sat  on  her  low  stool  by  the  sofa, 
and  the  old  and  the  young  woman  were  as  happy  and  confiden- 
tial together  as  if  they  had  been  always  the  nearest  and  dearest 
to  each  other.  Her  Ladyship  had  seen  Miss  Kirsch,  and  had  in- 
formed that  excellent  person  that  her  services  at  Fellside  would 
no  longer  be  required  after  Lady  Mary's  marriage,  but  that  her 
devotion  to  her  duties  during  the  last  fourteen  years  should  be 
rewarded  by  a  pension,  which,  together  with  her  savings,  would 
enable  her  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  days  in  repose.  Miss  Kirsch 
was  duly  grateful,  and  owned  to  a  tender  longing  for  the  Hei- 
math,  and  declared  herself  ready  to  retire  from  her  post  when- 
ever her  Ladyship  pleased. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  Germany  directly  I  leave  you,  and  I  shall 
live  and  die  there,  unless  I  am  wanted  by  one  of  my  old  pupils. 
But  should  Lady  Lesbia  or  Lady  Mary  need  my  services  for 
their  daughters'  in  days  to  come,  they  can  command  me.  For 
no  one  else  will  I  abandon  the  Fatherland." 

The  Fraulein  thus  easily  disposed  of.  Lady  Mary  felt  that 
matrimony  would  verily  mean  independence.  And  yet  she  was 
prepared  to  regard  her  husband  as  her  master.  She  meant  to 
obey  him  in  all  meekness  and  reverence  of  spirit. 

She  spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  and  the  whole  of  the  even- 
ing in  her  grandmother's  sitting-room,  dining  tete-^-t^te  with  the 


288  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

invalid  for  tlie  first  time  since  her  illness.  Lady  Maulevrier 
talked  much  of  Mary's  future,  and  of  Lesbia's,  but  it  was  evi- 
dent that  she  was  full  of  uneasiness  upon  the  latter  subject. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Lesbia  is  going  to  do  with  her  life,"  she 
said  with  a  sigh.  "  Her  letters  tell  me  of  nothing  but  gowns 
and  parties,  and  Georgina  Kirkbank  can  only  expatiate  upon 
Mr.  Smithson's  wealth  and  the  grand  position  he  is  going  to  oc- 
cupy by  and  by.  I  should  like  to  see  both  my  granddaughters 
married  before  I  die — yes,  I  should  like  to  see  Lesbia's  fate  se- 
cure, if  she  were  to  be  only  Lady  Lesbia  Smithson." 

"  She  cannot  fail  to  make  a  good  match,  grandmamma,"  said 
Mary. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  lose  faith  in  her  future,"  answered  Lady 
Maulevrier.  "There  seems  to  be  a  fatality  about  the  career  of 
particularly  attractive  girls.  They  are  too  confident  of  their 
power  to  succeed  in  life.  They  trifle  with  fortune,  fascinate 
the  wrong  people  and  keep  the  right  people  at  arm's  length.  I 
think  if  I  had  been  Lesbia's  guide  in  society  her  first  season 
would  have  counted  for  more  than  it  is  likely  to  count  for  un- 
der Lady  Kirkbank's  management.  I  should  have  awakened 
Lesbia  from  the  dream  of  dress  and  dancing — the  mere  butter- 
fly of  a  girl  who  never  looks  beyond  the  present  moment.  But 
now  go  and  give  orders  about  your  packing,  Mary.  It  is  past 
ten,  and  Clara  had  better  pack  your  trunks  early  to-morrow 
morning." 

Clara  was  a  modest  damsel,  who  had  been  promoted  to  be 
Lady  Mary's  personal  attendant  when  the  more  mature  Kibble 
had  gone  away  with  Lady  Lesbia.  Mary  required  very  little 
waiting  upon,  but  she  was  not  the  less  glad  to  have  a  neat  lit- 
tle smiling  maiden  devoted  to  her  service,  ready  to  keep  her 
rooms  neat  and  trim,  to  go  on  errands  to  the  cottages,  to  arrange 
the  flowers  in  the  old  china  bowls,  and  to  make  herself  generally 
useful. 

It  seemed  a  strange  thing  to  have  to  furnish  a  trousseau  from 
the  wardrobe  of  every-day  life — a  trousseau  in  which  nothing  ex- 
cept half  a  dozen  pairs  of  gloves,  a  pair  of  boots,  and  a  few  odds 
and  ends  of  lace  and  ribbon  would  be  actually  new.  Mary 
thought  very  little  of  the  matter,  but  the  position  of  things  struck 
her  maid  as  altogether  extraordinary  and  unnatural. 

"  You  should  have  seen  the  things  Miss  Freeman  had.  Lady 
Mary,  the  daughter  of  that  cotton-spinning  gentleman  from 
Manchester,  who  lives  at  the  Gables — you  should  have  seen  her 
new  gowns  and  things  when  she  was  married.  Mrs.  Freeman's 
maidkeeps  company  with  my  brother  James — he's  in  the  stables 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  289 

at  Freeman's,  you  know,  Lady  Mary — and  she  asked  me  in  to 
look  at  the  trousseau  two  days  before  the  wedding.  I  never 
saw  such  beautiful  dresses — such  hats — such  bonnets — such 
jackets  and  mantles.  It  was  like  going  into  one  of  those  grand 
shops  at  York,  and  having  all  the  things  in  the  shop  pulled  out 
for  one  to  look  at — such  silks  and  satins — and  trimmed — ah  ! 
how  those  dresses  were  trimmed.  The  mystery  was  how  the 
young  lady  could  ever  get  herself  into  them,  or  sit  down  when 
she'd  got  one  of  them  on." 

"  Instruments  of  torture,  Clara.  I  should  hate  such  gowns, 
even  if  I  were  going  to  marry  a  rich  man,  as  I  suppose  Miss 
Freeman  was." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Lady  Mary.  She  was  only  going  to  marry 
a  Bolton  doctor  in  a  small  practice,  but  her  maid  told  me  she 
was  determined  she'd  get  all  she  could  out  of  her  pa,  in  case  he 
should  lose  all  his  money,  and  go  bankrupt.  They  say  that 
trousseau  cost  two  thousand  pounds." 

"Well,  Clara,  I'd  rather  have  my  tailor  gowns,  in  which  I  can 
scramble  about  the  gills  and  crags  just  as  I  like." 

There  was  a  pale  yellow  Indian  silk,  smothered  with  soft  yel- 
low lace,  which  would  serve  for  a  wedding  gown  ;  for  indifferent 
as  Mary  was  to  the  great  clothes  question,  she  wanted  to  look 
in  some  wise  as  a  bride.  A.  neat  chocolate-colored  cloth,  al- 
most new  from  the  tailor's  hands,  with  a  little  cloth  hat  to  match, 
would  do  for  the  wedding  journey.  All  the  details  of  Mary's 
wardrobe  were  the  perfection  of  neatness.  She  had  grown  very 
neat  and  careful  in  her  habits  since  her  engagement,  anxious  to 
be  industrious  and  frugal  in  all  things — a  really  handy  house- 
wife for  a  hard-worked  bread-winner.  And  now  she  was  told 
that  Mr.  Hammond  was  not  so  poor  as  she  had  thought.  She 
would  not  be  obliged  to  stint  herself  and  manage,  as  she  had 
supposed  when  she  went  about  among  the  cottagers,  taking  les- 
sons in  household  economy.     It  was  almost  a  disappointment. 

She  and  Clara  finished  the  packing  that  night,  Mary  being 
much  too  excited  for  the  possibility  of  sleep.  There  was  not 
much  to  pack — only  one  roomy  American  trunk,  a  trunk  which 
held  everything,  a  Gladstone  bag  for  things  that  might  possibly 
be  wanted  in  a  hurry,  and  a  handsome  dressing  bag,  Maule- 
vrier's  last  birthday  gift  to  his  sister. 

Mary  had  received  no  gifts  from  her  lover,  save  the  plain  gold 
engagement  ring,  and  a  few  new  books  sent  straight  from  the 
publishers.  Clara  took  care  to  inform  her  that  Miss  Freeman's 
young  man  had  sent  her  all  manner  of  splendid  presents,  scent 
bottles,  photograph  albums,  glove  boxes  and  other  things  of 
19 


290  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

beauty,  albeit  his  means  were  supposed  to  be  nil.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  Clara  disapproved  of  Mr.  Hammond's  conduct  in  this 
matter,  and  even  suspected  him  of  meanness. 

"  He  ought  to  have  sent  you  his  photograph,  Lady  Mary," 
said  Clara,  with  a  reproachful  air. 

"  I  dare  say  he  would  have  done  so,  Clara,  only  he  has  been 
photographed  but  once  in  his  life.^' 

"  Lawk  a  mercy,  Lady  Mary !  Why  most  young  gentlemen 
have  themselves  photographed  in  every  new  place  they  go  to, 
and  as  Mr.  Hammond  has  been  a  traveler,  like  his  Lordship,  I 
made  sure  he'd  have  been  photographed  in  knickerbockers  and 
every  other  kind  of  attitude." 

Mary  had  not  refrained  from  asking  for  her  lover's  portrait, 
and  he  had  told  her  that  he  had  carefully  abstained  from  having 
his  countenance  reproduced  in  any  manner  since  his  fifteenth 
year,  when  he  had  been  photographed  at  his  mother's  desire. 

"  The  present  fashion  of  photographs  staring  out  of  every  sta- 
tioner's window  makes  a  man's  face  public  property,"  he  told 
Mary.  "  I  don't  want  every  street  Arab  in  London  to  recognize 
me." 

"  But  you  are  not  a  public  man,"  said  Mary,  "  your  photograph 
would  not  be  in  all  the  windows,  although,  in  my  humble  opin- 
ion, you  are  a  very  handsome  man." 

Hammond  blushed,  laughed  and  turned  the  conversation,  and 
Mary  had  to  exist  without  any  picture  of  her  lover. 

"  Millais  shall  paint  me  in  his  grand  Reynolds  manner  by  and 
by,"  he  told  Mary. 

"  Millais  !  oh.  Jack  !  When  will  you  and  I  be  able  to  give  a 
thousand  or  so  for  a  portrait  t " 

"  Ah,  when  indeed  ?  But  we  may  as  well  enjoy  our  day 
dreams,  like  Alnaschar,  without  smashing  our  basket  of  crock- 
ery." 

And  now  Mary,  who  had  managed  to  exist  without  the  picture, 
was  to  have  the  original.  He  was  to  be  all  her  own,  her  master, 
her  lord,  her  love,  after  to-morrow.  Unto  eternity,  in  life  and 
in  the  grave,  and  in  the  dim  hereafter  beyond  the  grave,  they 
were  to  be  one.  In  heaven  there  was  to  be  no  marrying  or  giv- 
ing in  marriage,  Mary  was  told ;  but  her  own  heart  cried  aloud 
to  her  that  the  happily  wedded  must  remain  linked  in  heaven. 
God  would  not  part  the  blessed  souls  of  true  lovers. 

A  short  sleep,  broken  by  happy  dreams,  and  it  was  morning, 
Mary's  Vvcdding  morning,  fairest  of  summer  days,  July  in  all 
her  beauty.  Mary  went  to  her  grandmother's  room  and  waited 
upon  her  at  breakfast. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


291 


Lady  Maulevrier  was  in  excellent  spirits. 

"  Everything  is  arranged,  Mary.  I  have  had  a  telegram  from 
Hammond,  who  has  got  the  license,  and  will  be  here  at  half-past 
one.  At  three  the  Vicar  will  be  here  to  marry  you,  his  daugh- 
ters, Katie  and  Laura,  acting  as  your  bridesmaids." 

"  Bridesmaids  !  "  exclaimed  Mary.  "  I  forgot  all  about  brides- 
maids.    Am  I  really  to  have  any  t  " 

"  You  will  have  two  girls  of  your  own  age  to  bear  you  com- 
pany, at  any  rate.  I  have  asked  dear  old  Horton  to  be  present, 
and  he,  Fraulein,  and  Maulevrier  will  com.plete  the  party.  It 
will  not  be  a  brilliant  wedding,  Mary,  or  a  costly  ceremonial, 
except  for  the  license." 

"  And  poor  Jack  will  have  to  pay  for  that,"  said  Mary,  with  a 
long  face. 

"  Poor  Jack  refused  to  let  me  pay  for  it,"  answered  Lady 
Maulevrier.  "  He  is  vastly  independent,  and  I  fear  somewhat 
reckless." 

"  I  like  him  for  his  independence,  but  he  mustn't  be  reckless," 
said  Mary,  severely. 

He  was  to  be  the  master  in  all  things ;  and  yet  she  was  to 
exercise  a  restraining  influence,  she  was  to  guard  him  against 
his  own  weaknessess,  his  too  generous  impulses.  Her  voice 
was  to  be  the  voice  of  prudence.  This  is  how  Mary  understood 
the  marriage  tie. 

Under  ordinary  conditions  Mary  would  have  been  in  the 
avenue,  lying  in  wait  for  her  lover,  eager  to  get  the  very 
first  glimpse  of  him  when  he  arrived,  to  see  him  before  he  had 
brushed  the  dust  of  the  journey  from  his  raiment.  But  to-day 
she  hung  back.  She  stayed  in  her  grandmother's  room,  and 
sat  beside  the  sofa,  shy,  and  even  a  little  downcast.  This 
lover,  who  was  so  soon  to  be  transformed  into  a  husband,  was 
a  formidable  personage.  She  dare  not  rush  forth  to  greet  him. 
Perhaps  he  had  changed  his  mind  by  this  time,  and  was  sorry 
he  had  ever  asked  her  to  marry  him.  Perhaps  he  thought  he 
was  being  hustled  into  a  marriage.  He  had  been  told  that  he 
was  to  wait  at  least  a  year.  And  now,  all  in  a  moment,  he  was 
sent  off  to  get  a  special  license.  How  could  she  be  quite  sure 
that  he  liked  this  kind  of  treatment  ? 

If  there  is  any  faith  to  be  placed  in  the  human  countenance, 
Mr.  Hammond  was  in  no  wise  an  unwilling  bridegroom,  for  his 
face  beamed  with  happy  delight  as  he  came  into  the  room  pre- 
sently, followed  by  an  elderly  man  with  gray  hair  and  whiskers, 
and  in  a  strictly  professional  frock  coat,  whom  the  butler  an- 
nounced as  Mr.  Dorncliffe.     Lady  Maulevrier  looked  startled, 


292  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

somewhat  offended  even,  at  this  intrusion,  and  she  gave  Mr. 
Dorncliffe  a  very  haughty  salutation,  which  was  almost  more 
crushing  than  no  salutation  at  all. 

Mary  stood  up  by  her  grandmother's  sofa,  and  looked  rather 
frightened. 

"  Dear  Lady  Maulevrier,  I  ventured  to  telegraph  to  my  law- 
yer to  meet  me  at  York  last  night,  and  come  on  here  with  me  this 
morning.  He  has  prepared  a  settlement  which  I  should  like  you 
to  hear  him  read,  and  which  he  will  explain  to  you,  if  necessary, 
while  Molly  and  I  go  for  a  stroll  in  the  grounds." 

He  had  never  called  her  Molly  before.  He  put  his  arm  round 
her  with  a  proud  air  of  possession,  even  under  her  grandmother's 
eyes.  And  she  nestled  close  up  to  his  side,  forgetting  every- 
thing but  the  delight  of  belonging  to  him. 

They  went  downstairs,  and  through  the  billiard-room  to  the 
terrace,  and  from  the  terrace  to  the  tennis  lawn,  where  John 
Hammond  sat  reading  Heine  nearly  a  year  ago,  just  before  he 
proposed  to  Lesbia. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  day  ?  "  asked  Mary,  looking  at  him, 
solemnly. 

"  I  remember  every  day  and  every  hour  we  have  spent  to- 
gether  since  I  began  to  love  you,"  answered  Hammond. 

"  Ah,  but  this  was  before  3^ou  began  to  love  me,"  said  Mar}^, 
with  a  piteous  little  grimace.  "  This  was  while  you  were  loving 
Lesbia  as  hard  as  ever  you  could.  Don't  you  remember  the 
day  you  proposed  to  her — a  lovely  summer  day  like  this,  the 
lake  just  as  blue,  the  sun  shining  upon  Fairfield  just  as  it  is 
shining  now,  and  you  sat  there  reading  Heine — those  sweet, 
sweet  verses,  that  seemed  made  of  sighs  and  tears,  and  every 
now  and  then  you  paused  and  looked  up  at  Lesbia,  and  there 
was  more  love  in  your  eyes  than  in  all  Heine's  poetiy,  through 
that  brims  over  with  love." 

"But  how  do  you  know  all  this,  Molly?     You  were  not  here." 

"  No,  but  I  was  not  very  far  off.  I  was  behind  those  bushes 
watching  and  listening.  I  knew  you  were  in  love  with  Lesbia, 
and  I  thought  you  despised  me,  and  I  was  very,  very  wretched, 
and  I  listened  afterward  when  you  proposed  to  her  there — be- 
hind the  pine  trees — and  I  hated  her  for  refusing  you,  and  I'm 
afraid  I  hated  you  for  proposing  to  her." 

"  When  I  ought  to  have  been  proposing  to  my  Molly,  blind 
fool  that  I  was,"  said  Hammond,  smiling  tenderly  at  her,  smiling 
though  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  "  My  own  sweet  love,  it 
was  a  terrible  mistake,  a  mistake  that  might  have  cost  me  the 
happiness  of  a  lifetime.     But  Fate  was  very  good  to  me,  and  let 


PHA  iVTOM  FOR  TUNE.  29; 

me  have  iny  Mary  after  all.  And  now  let  us  sit  down  under  the 
old  red  beech  and  talk  till  it  is  time  to  go  and  get  ready  for  oui 
wedding.  I  suppose  one  ought  to  brush  one's  hair  and  wasl: 
one's  hands  for  that  kind  of  thing,  even  when  the  function  is  nol 
on  a  ceremonious  scale." 

Mary  laughed. 

"  I  have  a  prettier  gown  than  this  to  be  married  in,  althougl" 
it  isn't  a  wedding  gown,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  by  the  bye,  I  have  something  for  you,  something  in  the 
way  of  ornaments,  but  I  don't  suppose  you'd  care  to  wear  then 
to-day.     I'll  run  and  get  them." 

He  went  back  to  the  house,  leaving  Mary  sitting  on  the  rustic 
bench  under  the  fine  old  copper  beech,  a  tree  that  had  beer 
standing  long  before  Lady  Maulevrier  enlarged  the  old  stone 
house  into  a  stately  villa.  He  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  bring 
ing  a  morocco  bag,  about  the  size  of  those  usually  carried  b) 
law}^ers  or  lawyers'  clerks. 

"I  don't  think  I  have  given  you  anything  since  we  were  en 
gaged,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Hammond. 

Mary  blushed,  remembering  how  Clara,  the  maid,  had  re 
marked  upon  this  fact. 

"  You  gave  me  my  ring,"  she  said,  looking  down  at  the  mas 
sive  band  of  gold,  "  and  you  have  given  me  ever  so  many  delight- 
ful books." 

"  They  have  been  very  humble  gifts,  Molly,  but  to-day  I  have 
brought  you  a  wedding  present." 

He  opened  the  bag  and  took  out  a  red  morocco  case,  and 
then  half  a  dozen  more  red  morocco  cases  of  various  shapes  and 
sizes.  The  first  looked  new,  but  the  others  were  old-fashioned 
and  passing  shabby,  as  if  they  had  been  knocking  about  brok- 
ers' shops  for  the  last  quarter  of  a  century. 

"  There  is  my  wedding  gift,  Mary,"  he  said,  handing  her  the 
new  case. 

It  contained  an  exquisitely  painted  miniature  of  a  very  beau- 
tiful woman,  in  a  large  oval  locket,  set  with  magnificent  sap- 
phires. 

"  You  have  asked  me  for  my  portrait,  dearest,"  he  said.  "  I 
give  you  my  mother's  rather  than  my  own,  because  I  loved  he? 
as  I  never  thought  to  love  again  till  I  knew  you.  I  should  lik< 
you  to  wear  that  locket  sometimes,  Mary,  as  a  kind  of  link  be 
tween  the  love  of  the  past  and  the  love  of  the  present.  Wer 
my  mother  living,  she  would  welcome  and  cherish  my  bride  an^ 
my  wife.     She  is  dead,  and  you  and  she  can  never   meet  o 


291 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 


earth  ;  but  I  like  you  to  be  familiar  with  the  face  which  was  once 
the  light  of  my  life." 

Mary's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  gazed  at  the  face  in  the 
miniature.  It  was  the  portrait  of  a  woman  of  about  thirty — a 
face  of  exquisite  refinement,  of  calm  and  pensive  beauty. 

"  I  shall  treasure  this  picture  always,  above  all  things,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  why  did  you  have  it  set  so  splendidly.  Jack  .?  No 
gems  were  needed  to  give  your  mother's  portrait  value  in  my 
eyes." 

"  I  know  that,  dearest ;  and  now  for  the  other  cases.  The 
locket  is  your  lover's  free  gift,  and  is  yours  to  keep  or  to  give 
away.  These  are  heirlooms,  and  yours  only  during  your  hus- 
band's lifetime." 

He  opened  one  of  the  largest  cases,  and  on  a  bed  of  black 
velvet  Mary  beheld  a  magnificent  collet  necklace  of  fine  dia- 
monds, with  a  large  pendant.  He  opened  another  and  displayed 
a  set  of  sprays  for  the  hair.  Another  contained  earrings, 
another  bracelets,  the  last  a  tiara. 

"  What  are  they  for  "i  "  gasped  Mary. 

"  For  my  wife  to  wear." 

"  Oh,  but  I  could  never  wear  such  things,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  an  idea  that  these  must  be  stage  jewelry.  "  They  are  paste, 
of  course — very  beautiful  for  people  who  like  that  kind  of  thing 
—but  I  don't." 

She  felt  deeply  shocked  at  this  evidence  of  bad  taste  on  the 
part  of  her  lover.  How  the  things  flashed  in  the  sunshine — but 
so  did  the  crystal  drops  in  the  old  Venetian  girandoles. 

"  No,  Molly,  they  are  not  paste  ;  they  are  Brazilian  diamonds, 
and  as  Maulevrier  would  say,  they  are  as  good  as  they  make 
them.  They  are  heirlooms,  Molly.  My  dear  mother  wore  them 
in  her  summertide  of  wedded  happiness.  My  grandmother 
wore  them  for  thirty  years  before  her,  my  great  grandmother 
wore  them  at  the  court  of  Queen  Charlotte,  and  they  were  worn 
at  the  court  of  Queen  Anne.  They  are  nearly  two  hundred 
years  old,  and  those  central  stones  in  the  tiara  came  out  of  a  cap 
w^orn  by  the  Great  Mogul,  and  are  the  largest  table  diamonds 
known.     They  are  historic,  Mary." 

"  Why,  they  must  be  worth  a  fortune." 

"  They  are  valued  at  something  over  seventy  thousand 
pounds." 

"  But  why  don't  you  sell  them  ?  "  exclaimed  Mary,  opening  her 
syes  wide  with  surprise,  "  they  would  give  you  a  handsome  in- 
:ome." 

"  They  are  not  mine  to  sell,  Molly.     Did  I  not  tell  you  that 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  295 

"•- 
they  are  heirlooms  ?     They  are  the  family  jewels  of  the  Count- 
esses of  Hartfield." 

"  Then  what  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ronald  Hollister,  Earl  of  Hartfield,  and  your  adoring  lover." 

Mary  gave  a  cry  of  surprise,  a  cry  of  distress  even. 

"  Oh,  that  is  too  dreadful  !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  grandmamma 
will  be  so  unhappy.  She  had  set  her  heart  upon  Lesbia  marry- 
ing Lord  Hartfield,  the  son  of  the  man  she  loved." 

""  I  got  wind  of  her  wish  more  than  a  year  ago,"  said  Hart- 
field, "  from  your  brother,  and  he  and  I  hatched  a  plot  between 
us.  He  told  me  Lesbia  was  not  worthy  of  a  man's  devotion — 
told  me  she  was  vain  and  ambitious — that  she  had  been  educat- 
ed to  be  so.  I  determined  to  come  and  try  my  fate.  I  would 
try  to  win  her  as  plain  John  Hammond.  If  she  was  a  true 
woman,  I  told  myself,  vanity  and  ambition  would  be  blown  to  the 
four  winds  provided  1  could  win  her  love.  I  came,  I  saw  her, 
and  to  see  was  to  love  her.  God  knows  I  tried  honestly  to 
win  her ;  but  I  had  sworn  to  myself  that  I  would  woo  her  as 
John  Hammond,  and  I  did  not  waver  in  my  resolution — no,  not 
when  i  word  would  have  turned  the  scale.  She  liked  me,  I 
think,  a  little,  but  she  did  not  like  the  notion  of  an  obscure  life 
as  the  wife  of  a  hard-working  professional  man.  The  pomps 
and  vanities  of  this  world  had  it  against  love  or  liking,  and  she 
gave  me  up.  I  thank  God  that  the  pomps  and  vanities  prevailed, 
for  this  happy  chance  gave  me  Mary,  my  sweet  Wordsworthian 
damsel,  found  like  the  violet  or  the  celandine,  by  the  wayside, 
in  Wordsworth's  own  country." 

"  And  you  are  Lord  Hartfield,"  exclaimed  Mary,  still  lost  in 
wonder,  and  with  no  elation  at  this  change  in  the  aspect  of  her 
life.  "  I  always  knew  you  were  a  great  man.  But  poor  grand- 
mother !     It  will  be  a  dreadful  disappointment  to  her." 

"  I  think  not.  I  think  she  has  learned  my  Molly's  value, 
rather  late,  as  I  learned  it,  and  I  believe  she  will  be  rather  glad 
that  one  of  her  granddaughters  should  marry  the  son  of  her  first 
lover.  Let  us  go  to  her,  love,  and  see  if  she  is  reconciled  to 
the  idea,  and  whether  the  settlement  is  ready  for  execution. 
Dorncliffe  and  his  clerk  were  working  at  it  half  through  the 
night." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  a  settlement  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  I  am 
sure  I  don't  want  one." 

"  Lady  Hartfield  must  not  be  dependent  upon  her  husband's 
whim  or  pleasure  for  her  milliner's  bill  or  her  private  charities," 
answered  her  lover,  smiling  at  her  eagerness  to  repudiate  any- 
thing business-like. 


295  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  But  I  would  rather  be  dependent  on  your  pleasure  ;  I  shall 
never  have  any  milliner's  bills  ;  and  I  am  sure  you  would  never 
deny  me  money  for  charity." 

"  You  shall  not  have  to  ask  me  for  it,  except  when  you  have 
exceeded  your  pin  money.  I  hope  you  will  do  that  now  and 
then  just  to  afford  me  the' pleasure  of  doing  you  a  favor." 

*'  Hartfield,"  repeated  Mary  to  herself,  as  they  went  toward 
the  house,  •'  shall  I  have  to  call  you  Hartfield?  I  don't  like  the 
name  nearly  so  well  as  Jack." 

"  You  shall  call  me  Jack  for  old  time's  sake,"  said  Hartfield 
tenderly. 

"  How  did  you  think  of  such  a  name  as  Jack  ?  " 

"  Rather  an  effort  of  genius,  wasn't  it  t  Well,  first  and  foremost, 
I  was  christened  Ronald  John— all  the  Hollisters  are  christened 
John — name  of  the  founder  ©f  the  race  ;  and,  secondly,  Maule- 
vrier  and  I  were  always  plain  Mr.  Moreland  and  Mr.  Hammond 
in  our  travels,  and  always  called  each  other  Jack  and  Jim." 

"How  nice,"  said  Mary.  "Would  you  very  much  mind  our 
being  plain  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hammond  while  we  are  on  our  honey- 
moon trip  ? " 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things." 

"  So  should  I.  People  will  not  take  so  much  notice  of  us, 
and  we  can  do  what  we  like  and  go  where  we  like." 

"  Delightful.  We'll  even  disguise  ourselves  as  Cook's  Tour- 
ists, if  you  like.     I  would  not  mind.' 

They  were  at  the  door  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  sitting  room  by 
this  time.     They  went  in  and  were  greeted  with  smiles. 

"  Let  me  look  at  the  Countess  of  Hartfield  that  is  to  be  in 
half  an  hour,"  said  her  Ladyship.  "  Oh,  Mary,  Mary,  what  a 
blind  idiot  I  have  been,  and  what  a  lucky  girl  you  are.  I  told 
you  once  that  you  were  wiser  than  Lesbia ;  but  I  little  thought 
how  much  wiser  you  had  been." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  OUR    LOVE    WAS    NEW,    AND    THEN    BUT    IN    THE    SPRING." 

Henley  regatta  was  over.  It  had  passed  like  a  tale  that  is 
told ;  like  Epsom  and  Ascot,  and  all  the  other  glories  of  the 
London  season  ;  and  happy  those  for  whom  the  glory  of  Henley, 
the  grace  of  Ascot,  the  fever  of  Epsom,  are  not  as  weary  as  a 
twice-told  tale,  brmging  with  them  only  bitterest  memories  of 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  297 

youth  that  has  fled,  of  hopes  that  have  withered,  of  day  dreams 
that  have  never  been  reaUzed.  There  are  some  to  whom  that 
mad  hastening  from  pleasure  to  pleasure,  that  rush  from  scene 
to  scene  of  excitement,  that  eager  crowding  into  one  day  and 
night  of  gayeties  which  might  fairly  relieve  the  placid  monotony 
of  a  month's  domesticity,  a  month's  professional  work — some 
ther^  are  to  whom  this  Vanity  Fair  is  as  a  treadmill  or  the  turning 
of  a  crank,  the  felon's  deepest  humiUation,  purposeless,  unprotit- 
able  labor. 

The  regatta  was  over,  and  Lady  Kirkbank  and  her  charge 
hastened  back  to  Arlington  Street.  Theirs  was  the  very  first 
departure  ;  albeit  Mr.  Smithson  pleaded  hard  for  a  prolongation 
of  their  visit.  The  weather  was  exceptionally  lovely,  he  urged. 
Water  picnics  were  delightful  just  now — the  banks  were  alive 
with  the  color  of  innumerable  wild  flowers,  as  beautiful  and  more 
poetical  than  the  gorgeous  flora  of  the  Amazon  or  the  Paraguay 
River.  And  Lady  Lesbia  had  developed  a  genius  for  punting ; 
and,  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  punt,  with  her  hair  flying  loose 
and  sleeves  rolled  up  above  the  elbow,  she  was  a  subject  for 
canvas  or  marble,  Millais  or  Adams  Acton. 

"  When  we  are  in  Italy  I  will  have  her  modeled  just  in  that 
attitude,  and  that  dress,"  he  said.  "  She  will  make  a  lovely 
companion  for  my  Reading  Girl,  one  all  repose  and  reverie,  the 
other  all  life  and  action.  Dear  Lady  Kirkbank,  you  really  must 
stay  for  another  week  at  least.  Why  go  back  to  the  smoke  and 
sultriness  of  town  ?  Here  we  can  almost  live  on  the  water ;  and 
I  will  send  to  London  for  some  people  to  make  music  for  us  in 
the  evenings ;  or  if  you  miss  your  little  game  at  '  Nap,'  we  will 
play  for  an  hour  or  so  every  night.  It  shall  not  be  my  fault  if 
my  house  is  not  pleasant  for  you." 

"  Your  house  is  charming,  and  I  shall  be  here  only  too  often 
in  the  days  to  come;  you  will  have  more  than  enough  of  me, 
then,  I  promise  you,"  replied  Georgie,  with  her  girlish  laugh, 
"  but  we  must  not  stop  a  day  longer  now.  People  would  begin 
to  talk.  Besides,  we  have  engagements  for  every  hour  of  the 
week  that  is  coming,  and  for  a  fortnight  after ;  and  then  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  take  Lesbia  to  the  North  to  see  her  grandmother, 
and  to  discuss  all  the  preparations  and  arrangements  for  this 
very  serious  event  in  which  you  and  Lesbia  are  to  be  the  chici 
performers." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go  to  Grasmere  myself,  and  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  my  future  grandmother-in-law,"  said  Mr. 
Smithson. 

"  You  will  be  charmed  with  her.      She  belongs  to   the  old 


298  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

school — something  of  a  fossil,  perhaps,  but  a  very  dignifieci  fossil. 
She  has  grown  old  in  a  rustic  seclusion,  and  knows  less  of  our 
world  than  a  mother  abbess ;  but  she  has  read  immensely,  and 
is  wonderfully  clever.  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  she  has  very 
lofty  ideas  about  her  granddaug^hter,  and  I  believe  she  will  only 
be  reconciled  to  Lesbia's  marriage  with  a  commoner  by  the  no- 
tion that  you  are  sure  of  a  peerage.  I  ventured  to  hint  as  much 
in  my  letter  to  Lady  Maulevrier  yesterday. 

A  shade  of  sullenness  crept  over  Horace  Smithson's  visage. 

"  I  should  hope  that  such  settlements  as  I  am  in  a  position  to 
make  will  convince  Lady  Maulevrier  that  I  am  a  respectable 
suitor  for  her  granddaughter,  ex-peerage,"  he  said  somewhat 
haughtily. 

"  My  dear  Smithson,  did  not  I  tell  you  that  poor  Lady  Maule- 
vrier is  a  century  behind  the  times,"  exclaimed  Lady  Kirkbank 
with  an  aggrieved  look.  "  If  she  were  one  of  us,  of  course  she 
would  know  that  wealth  is  the  paramount  consideration,  and 
that  you  are  quite  the  best  match  of  the  season.  But  she  is 
dreadfully  arrieree,  poor  dear  thing,  and  she  has  amused  herself 
with  the  day-dream  of  seeing  Lesbia  a  duchess,  or  something  of 
that  kind.  I  shall  tell  her  that  Lesbia  can  be  one  of  the  queens 
of  society  without  having  strawberry  leaves  on  her  coach  panels, 
and  that  my  dear  friend  Horace  Smithson  is  a  much  better 
match  than  a  seedy  duke.  So  don't  look  cross,  my  dear  fellow ; 
in  me  you  have  a  friend  who  will  never  desert  you." 

"Thanks,"  said  Smithson,  inwardly  resolving  that,  so  soon  as 
this  little  transaction  of  his  marriage  was  over,  he  would  see  as 
little  of  Georgie  Kirkbank  and  her  cotton  frocks  and  schoolgirl 
hats  as  bare  civility  would  allow. 

He  had  promised  her  that  she  should  be  the  richer  by  a  neat 
little  bundle  of  fat  and  flourishing  railway  stock  when  his  happi- 
ness was  secured,  apd  he  was  not  going  to  break  his  promise. 
But  he  did  not  mean  to  give  George  and  Georgie  free  quarters 
at  Rood  Hall,  or  at  Cowes  or  Deauville,  and  he  meant  to  with- 
draw his  wife  altogether  from  Lady  Kirkbank's  pinchbeck  set. 

What  were  Lesbia's  feelings  in  the  early  morning  after  the 
last  day  of  the  regatta,  as  she  slowly  paced  the  lavender  walk  in 
the  Ladies'  Garden,  alone,  for  happily  Mr.  Smithson  was  not  so 
early  a  riser  as  the  Grasmere  bred  damsel,  and  she  had  this 
fresh  morning  hour  to  herself  ?  Of  what  was  she  thinking  as  she 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  broad  gravel  walk  between  two 
rows  of  tall  old  bushes,  on  which  purple  masses  of  blossom 
stood  up  from  the  pale  gray  foliage,  silvery  where  the  summer 
breeze  touched  it. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  299 

Well,  she  was  thinking  first  what  a  grand  old  place  Rood  Hall 
was,  and  that  it  was  in  a  manner  hers  henceforward.  She  was 
to  be  mistress  of  this  house,  and  of  other  houses,  each  after  its 
fashion  as  perfect  as  Rood  Hall.  She  was  to  have  illimitable 
money  at  her  command,  to  spend  and  give  away  as  she  liked. 
She,  who  yesterday  had  been  tortured  by  the  idea  of  owing  a 
paltry  three  thousand  pounds,  was  henceforward  to  count  her 
thousands  by  the  hundred.  Her  senses  reeled  before  that  daz- 
zling vision  of  figures  with  rows  of  ciphers  after  them,  one  cipher 
more  or  less  meaning  the  difference  between  thousands  and  mill- 
ions. Everybody  had  agreed  in  assuring  her  that  Mr.  Smithson 
was  inordinately  rich.  Everybody  had  considered  it  his  or  her 
business  to  give  her  information  about  the  gentleman's  income, 
clearly  implying  thereby  that  in  the  opinion  of  society  Mr. 
Smithson 's  merits  as  a  suitor  were  a  question  of  so  much 
bullion. 

Could  she  doubt,  she  who  had  learned  in  one  short  season  to 
know  what  the  world  was  made  of,  and  what  it  most  valued  ? 
could  she,  steeped  to  the  lips  in  the  wisdom  of  Lady  Kirkbank's 
set,  doubt  for  an  instant  that  she  was  making  a  better  match  in 
the  eye  of  society  than  if  she  had  married  a  man  of  the  highest 
lineage  in  all  England,  a  peer  of  the  highest  rank  without  large 
means  ?  She  knew  that  money  was  power,  that  a  man  might 
begin  life  as  a  pot-boy  or  a  greengrocer,  a  knacker  or  a  dust  con- 
tractor, and  climb  to  the  topmost  pinnacles,  were  he  only  rich 
enough.  She  knew  that  society  would  eat  such  a  man's  dinners 
and  dance  at  his  wife's  balls,  and  pretend  to  think  him  an  alto- 
gether exceptional  man,  make  believe  to  admire  him  for  his  own 
sake,  to  think  his  wife  most  briUiant  among  women,  if  he  were 
only  rich  enough.  And  could  she  doubt  that  society  ivould  bow 
down  to  her  as  Lady  Lesbia  Smithson  t  She  had  learned  a 
great  deal  in  her  single  season,  and  she  knew  how  society  was 
influenced  and  governed  almost  as  well  as  Sir  Robert  Walpole 
knew  how  human  nature  could  be  molded  and  directed  at  the 
will  of  a  shrewd  diplomatist.  She  knew  that  in  the  fashionable 
world  every  man  and  every  woman,  every  child  even,  has  his  or 
her  price  and  maybe  bought  and  sold  at  pleasure.  She  had  her 
price,  she,  Lesbia,  the  pearl  of  Grasmere,  and  the  price  having 
been  fairly  bidden  she  had  surrendered  to  the  bidder. 

"  I  suppose  I  ahvays  meant  to  marry  him,"  she  thought,  paus- 
ing in  her  promenade  to  gaze  across  the  verdant  landscape,  a 
fertile  vale  against  a  background  of  low  hills.  All  to  the  edge 
of  those  hills  belonged  to  Mr.  Smithson.  "  Yes,  I  must  have 
meant  to  give  way  at  last,  or  I  should  hardly  have    tolerated 


300 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUi\  'E. 


his  attentions.  It  would  have  been  a  pity  to  refuse  such  a  place 
as  this  .  and  he  is  quite  gentlemanlike  ;  and  as  I  have  done 
with  all  foolish,  and  romantic  ideas,  I  do  not  see  why  I  should 
not  learn  to  like  him  very  much." 

She  dismissed  the  idea  of  Smithson  lighth^,  with  this  conclu- 
sion, which  she  believed  very  virtuous,  and  then  as  she  resumed 
her  walk  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  Park  Lane  Palace. 

"  I  hardly  know  whether  I  like  it,"  she  mused  languidly ; 
"  beautiful  as  it  is,  it  is  only  a  reproduction  of  bygone  splendor, 
and  it  is  painfully,  excruciatingly  new.  For  my  own  part,  I 
would  much  rather  have  the  shabbiest  old  house  which  had  be- 
longed to  one's  ancestors,  which  had  come  to  one  as  a  heritage, 
by  divine  right  as  it  were,  instead  of  being  bought  with  newly 
made  money.  To  my  mind  it  would  rank  higher.  Yet  I  doubt 
if  anybody  nowadays  sets  a  pin's  value  upon  ancestors.  People 
ask  who  is  he,  but  they  only  mean  how  much  has  he  ?  And 
provided  a  person  is  not  absolutely  in  trade,  not  actually  en- 
gaged in  selling  soap,  or  matches,  or  mustard,  society  doesn't 
care  a  straw  how  his  money  has  been  made.  The  only  secon- 
dary question  is  '  How  long  will  it  last  t '  and  that  is  of  course 
important." 

Musing  thus,  worldly  wisdom  personified,  the  maiden  looked 
np  and  saw  her  lover  entering  at  the  light  little  iron  gate  which 
gave  entrance  to  this  feminine  Eden.  She  went  to  meet  him, 
looking  all  simplicity  and  freshness  in  her  white  morning  gown 
and  neat  little  Dunstable  hat.  It  seemed  to  him  as  he  gazed 
at  her  almost  as  if  this  delicate  sylphlike  beauty  were  some 
wild,  white  flower  of  the  woods  personified. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  graciously,  but  he  drew  her  to  his 
breast  and  kissed  her,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  exercising 
an  indisputable  right.  She  supposed  that  it  was  his  right,  and 
she  submitted,  but  released  herself  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  My  dearest,  how  lovely  you  look  in  this  morning  light,"  he 
exclaimed,  "while  all  the  other  women  are  upstaiis  making  up 
their  faces  to  meet  the  sun,  and  we  shall  see  every  shade  of  bis- 
muth by  and  by,  from  pale  blue  to  purple." 

"  It  is  very  uncivil  for  you  to  say  such  a  thing  of  your  guests," 
exclaimed  Lesbia. 

"  But  they  all  indulge  in  bismuth — you  must  be  quite  aware 
of  that.  Then  call  the  stuff  by  different  names — Blanc  Rosati, 
Creme  de  I'lmperatrice,  Milk  of  Beauty,  Perline,  Opaline,  Ivo- 
rine — but  it  means  bismuth  all  the  same:  Expose  your  fashion- 
able beauty  to  the  fumes  of  sewer  gas,  and  that  dazzling  white- 
ness would  turn  to  a  dull  brown  hue,  or  even  black.     Thank 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 


301 


heaven,  my  Lesbia  wears  real  lilies  and  roses.  Have  you  been 
here  long  ? " 

"  About  half  an  hour." 

"  I  only  wish  I  had  known.  I  should  not  have  dawdled  so 
long  over  my  dressing." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  did  not  know,"  Lesbia  answered  coolly. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  never  want  to  be  alone  \  Life  in  London  is 
perpetual  turmoil,  one's  eyes  grow  weary  with  evening  and 
morning  crowds,  one's  ears  ache  with  trying  to  distinguish  one 
voice  among  the  buzz  of  voices." 

"  Then,  why  go  back  to  town  }  Why  go  back  to  the  turmoil 
and  the  treadmill  ?  It  is  only  a  kind  of  treadmill,  after  all, 
though  we  choose  to  call  it  pleasure.  Stay  here,  Lesbia,  and 
let  us  live  upon  the  river,  and  among  the  flowers,"  urged  Smith- 
son  with  as  romantic  an  air  as  if  he  had  never  heard  of  con- 
tango, or  bulling  and  bearing  ;  and  yet,  only  half  an  hour  ago, 
while  his  valet  was  shaving  him,  he  was  debating  within  himself 
whether  he  should  be  bear  or  bull  in  his  influence  upon  certain 
stock. 

It  was  supposed  that  he  never  went  near  the  city,  that  he  had 
shaken  the  dust  of  Lombard  Street  and  the  House  off  his  shoes. 
That  his  fortune  was  made,  and  he  had  no  further  need  of  specu- 
lation. Yet  the  proverb  holds  good  with  the  stock-jobbers. 
He  who  has  once  drunk  will  drink  again.  Of  that  fountain 
there  is  no  satiety. 

"  Stay,  and  hear  the  last  of  the  nightingale,"  he  murmured  ; 
"  we  are  famous  for  our  nightingales." 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  order  a  fricassee  of  their  tongues,  like 
that  loathsome  person  in  Roman  history." 

"  I  hope  I  shal>  never  resemble  any  loathsome  person.  Why 
can  you  not  stay .? " 

"  Why,  because  it  is  not  etiquette,  Lady  Kirkbank  says." 

"  Lady  Kirkbank,  eh,  la  belle  farce,  Lady  Kirkbank  standing 
out  for  etiquette." 

"  Don't  laugh  at  my  chaperon,  sir.  Upon  what  rock  can  a 
poor  girl  lean  if  you  undermine  her  faith  in  her  chaperon  .f"  " 

"  I  hope  you  will  have  a  better  guardian  before  you  are  a 
month  older.  I  mean  to  be  a  very  strong  rock,  Lesbia.  You 
do  not  know  how  firmly  I  shall  stand  between  you  and  all  the 
perils  of  society.     You  have  been  but  poorly  guarded  hitherto." 

."  You  talk  as  if  you  mean  to  be  an  abominable  tyrant," 
said  Lesbia.  *'If  you  don't  t/ike  care  I  shall  change  my  mind 
and  recall  my  promise." 

"  Not   on  that  account,  Lesbia ;  every  woman  likes   a  man 


302  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

who  stands  up  for  his  own.  It  is  only  your  inveterate  husband 
whose  wife  drifts  into  the  divorce  court.  I  mean  to  keep  and  to 
hold  the  prize  I  have  won.  When  is  it  to  be,  dearest — our  wed- 
ding day  1 " 

"  Not  for  ages,  I  hope — some  time  next  Summer,  at  the  earli- 
est." 

"  You  would  like  to  keep  me  waiting  a  year  ?  " 

"  Why  not  1 " 

"  You  would  not  ask  that  if  you  loved  me." 

"  You  are  asking  too  much,"  said  Lesbia,  with  a  flash  of  defi- 
ance. "There  has  been  nothing  said  about  love  yet.  You 
asked  me  to  be  your  wife  and  I  said  yes — meaning  that  at  some 
remote  period  such  a  thing  might  be." 

She  knew  that  the  man  was  her  slave — slave  to  her  beautv, 
slave  to  her  superior  rank — and  she  was  determined  not  to  les- 
sen the  weight  of  his  chain  by  so  much  as  a  feather. 

"  Did  not  that  promise  imply  something  like  love  'i  "  he  asked, 
earnestly. 

"  Perhaps  it  implied  a  little  gratitude  for  your  devotion,  which 
I  have  neither  courted  nor  encouraged;  a  little  respect  for  your 
talents,  your  perseverance  ;  a  little  admiration  for  your  w'onder- 
ful  success  in  life.  Perhaps  love  may  follow  these  sentiments, 
naturally,  easily,  if  you  are  very  patient ;  but  if  3'ou  talk  about 
our  being  married  before  next  year  you  will  simply  make  me 
hate  you." 

"  Then  I  will  say  very  little  except  to  remind  you  that  there 
is  no  earthly  reason  why  we  should  not  be  married  next  month. 
October  and  November  are  the  best  months  in  Rome,  and  I 
heard  you  say  last  night  you  were  pining  to  see  Rome," 

"  What  then  1  Cannot  Lady  Kirkbank  take  me  to 
Rome  ?  " 

"  And  introduce  3'ou  to  the  rowdiest  people  in  the  city,"  cried 
Mr.  Smithson.  "  Lesbia,  I  adore  you.  It  is  the  dream  of  my 
life  to  be  your  husband  ;  but  if  you  are  going  to  spend  a  Winter 
in  Italy  with  Lady  Kirkbank,  I  renounce  my  right,  I  surrender 
my  hope.     You  will  not  be  the  wife  of  my  dreams  after  that." 

"  Do  you  assert  a  right  to  control  my  life  during  my  engage- 
ment ?  " 

"  Some  little  right ;  above  all,  the  privilege  of  choosing  your 
friends.  And  that  is  one  reason  I  most  fervently  desire  our 
marriage  should  not  be  delayed.  You  will  find  it  difficult,  im- 
possible, perhaps,  to  get  out  of  Lady  Kirkbank's  claws  while 
you  are  single,  but  once  my  wife,  that  amiable  old  person  can 
be  made  to  keep  her  distance." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  303 

"  Lady  Kirkbank's  claws  !  What  a  horrible  way  in  which  to 
speak  of  a  friend.     I  thought  you  adored  Lady  Kirkbank." 

"  So  I  do  ;  we  all  adore  her  but  not  as  a  guide  for  youth. 
As  a  specimen  of  the  middle-aged  female  of  the  latter  half  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  she  is  perfect.  Such  gush,  such  juve- 
nility, such  broad  views,  such  an  utter  absence  of  starch  ;  but  as 
a  lamp  for  the  footsteps  of  girlhood — no,  there  we  must  pause." 

"  You  are  very  ungrateful.  Do  you  know  that  poor  Lady 
Kirkbank  has  been  most  strenuous  in  your  behalf  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  that." 

"  And  you  are  not  grateful  ?  " 

•'  I  intend  to  be  very  grateful — so  grateful  as  to  entirely  sat- 
isfy Lady  Kirkbank." 

"  You  are  horribly  cynical.  That  reminds  me,  there  was  a 
poor  girl  whom  Lady  Kirkbank  had  under  her  w^ing  one  season 
— a  Miss  Trinder,  to  whom  I  am  told  you  behaved  shame- 
fully." 

"There  was  a  parson's  daughter  who  threw  herself  at  my 
head  in  a  most  audacious  way,  and  who  behaved  so  badly,  egged 
on  by  Lady  Kirkbank,  that  I  had  to  take  refuge  in  flight.  Do 
you  suppose  I  am  the  kind  of  man  to  marry  the  first  adventur- 
ous damsel  who  takes  a  fancy  to  my  town  house  and  thinks  it 
would  be  a  happy  huntmg-ground  for  a  herd  of  brothers  and 
sisters.  Miss  Trinder  was  shocking  bad  style,  and  her  designs 
were  transparent  from  the  very  beginning.  I  let  her  flirt  as  much 
as  she  liked  ;  but  when  she  began  to  be  seriously  sentimental  I 
took  wing  for  the  East." 

"  Was  she  pretty  ?  "  asked  Lesbia,  not  displeased  at  this  con- 
temptuous summing  up  of  poor  Belle  Trinder's  story. 

"  If  you  admire  the  Flemish  type,  as  illustrated  by  Rubens, 
she  was  lovely.  A  complexion  of  lilies  and  roses — cabbage 
roses,  bien  entendu,  which  were  apt  to  deepen  into  peonies 
after  champagne  and  mayonaise  at  Ascot  or  Sandown — a  figure 
— oh — well — a  tremendous  figure — hair  of  an  auburn  that 
touched  perilously  on  the  confines  of  red — large,  serviceable  feet, 
and  an  appetite — an  appetite  of  a  plowman's  daughter  reared 
upon  short  commons." 

"  You  are  very  cruel  to  a  girl  who  evidently  admired  you." 

"  A  fig  for  her  admiration  !  She  wanted  to  live  in  my  house 
and  spend  my  money." 

"  There  goes  the  gong,"  exclaimed  Lesbia,  "pray  let  us  go  to 
breakfast.  You  are  hideously  cynical,  and  I  am  wofuUy  tired 
of  you." 

And  as  they  strolled  back  to  the  house,  by  lavender  walk  and 


304 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


rose  garden,  and  across  the  dewy  lawn,  Lesbia  questioned  lier- 
self  as  to  whether  she  was  one  whit  better  or  more  dignified 
than  Isabella  Trinder.  She  wore  her  rue  with  a  difference,  that 
was  all. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"all  fancy,  pride,  and  fickle  maidenhood." 

The  return  to  Arlington  Street  meant  a  return  to  the  ceaseless 
whirl  of  gayety.  Even  at  Rood  Hall  life  had  been  as  near  an 
approach  to  perpetual  motion  as  one  could  hope  for  in  this 
world,  but  the  excitement  and  the  hurrying  and  scampering  in 
Berkshire  had  a  rustic  flavor;  there  were  moments  that  were  al- 
most repose,  a  breathing  space  between  the  blue  river  and  the 
blue  sky,  in  a  world  that  seemed  made  of  green  fields  and  hang- 
ing woods,  and  the  song  of  the  lark.  But  in  London  the  very 
atmosphere  was  charged  with  hurry  and  agitation  ;  the  fresh- 
ness was  gone  from  the  verdure  of  the  parks ;  the  glory  of  the 
rhododendrons  had  failed;  the  green  park  below  Lady  Kirk- 
bank's  mansion  was  baked  and  rusty  ;  the  towers  of  the  Houses 
of  Parliament  yonder  were  dimly  seen  in  a  mist  of  heat.  London 
air  tasted  of  smoke  and  dust,  vibrated  with  the  incessant  roll  of 
carriages,  and  the  trampling  of  multitudinous  feet. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  promised  Lady  Kirkbank,  sportively  as  it 
were,  and  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  as  he  would  have 
offered  to  wager  a  dozen  of  gloves,  that  were  he  so  happy  as  to 
win  her  protegee's  hand  he  would  find  her  an  investment  for,  sa}', 
a  thousand,  which  would  bring  her  in  twenty  per  cent. ;  nay, 
more,  he  would  also  find  the  thousand,  which  would  have  been 
the  initial  difficulty  on  poor  Georgie's  part.  But  this  little  mat- 
ter was  in  Georgie's  mind  a  detail,  compared  with  the  advantages 
to  accrue  to  her  indirectly  from  Lesbia's  union  with  one  of  the 
richest  men  in  London. 

Lady  Kirkbank  had  brought  about  many  good  matches,  and 
had  been  too  often  rewarded  with  base  ingratitude  upon  the 
part  of  her  protegees  after  marriage  ;  but  there  was  a  touch  of 
Arcady  in  the  good  soul's  nature,  and  she  was  always  trustful. 
She  told  herself  now  that  Lesbia  would  not  be  ungrateful — 
would  not  basely  kick  down  the  ladder  by  which  she  had  mount- 
ed to  heights  empyrean-— would  not  cruelly  shelve  the  friend 
who  had  pioneered  her  to  high  fortune.     She    counted    u^^on 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  305 

making  the  house  in  Park  Lane  as  her  own  house — upon  being 
the  prime  mover  of  all  Lesbia's  hospitalities,  the  supervisor  of 
her  visiting  list,  the  shadow  behind  the  throne. 

There  were  balls  and  parties  nightly,  dinners,  luncheons,  gar- 
den parties,  and  yet  there  was  a  sense  of  waning  in  the  glory  of 
the  world — everybody  felt  that  the  fag  end  of  the  season  was 
approaching.  All  the  really  great  entertainments  were  over — 
the  cabinet  dinners,  the  reception  at  the  Foreign  Office,  the  last 
of  the  State  balls  and  concerts.  Some  of  the  best  people  had 
already  left  town,  and  senators  were  beginning  to  complain  that 
they  saw  no  prospect  of  early  deliverance.  There  was  Good- 
wood still  to  look  forward  to  ;  and  after  Goodwood  the  Deluge 
— or  rather  the  Cowes  Regatta,  about  which  Lady  Kirkbank's 
set  were  already  talking. 

Lady  Lesbia  was  to  be  at  Cowes  for  the  regatta  week.  That 
was  a  settled  thing.  Mr.  Smithson's  schooner-yacht,  the  Cay- 
man, was  to  be  her  hotel.  It  was  to  be  Lady  Kirkbank  and 
Lady  Lesbia's  yacht,  for  the  nonce  ;  and  Mr.  Smithson  was  to 
live  on  the  shore  at  the  club.  He  would  be  only  Lady  Kirk- 
bank's visitor.  The  severe  etiquette  of  the  situation  would 
therefore  not  be  infringed  ;  and  yet  Mr.  Smithson  would  have 
the  happiness  of  seeing  his  betrothed  aboard  his  yacht,  sole  and 
sovereign  mistress,  and  of  spending  the  long  summer  days  at 
her  feet.  Even  to  Lady  Lesbia  this  idea  of  the  yacht  was  not 
without  its  charm.  She  had  never  been  on  board  such  a  yacht 
as  the  Cayman ;  she  was  a  good  sailor,  as  testified  by  many  an 
excursion  in  hired  sailing  boats  at  Tynemouth  and  St.  Bees, 
and  she  knew  that  she  would  be  the  queen  of  the  hour.  She  ac- 
cepted Mr.  Smithson's  invitation  for  the  Cowes  week  more  gra- 
ciously than  she  was  wont  to  receive  his  attentions,  and  was 
pleased  to  say  that  the  whole  thing  would  be  rather  enjoyable. 

"It  will  be  simple  enchantment,"  exclaimed  the  more  enthu- 
siastic Georgie  Kirkbank.  "There  is  nothing  so  rapturous  as 
life  on  board  a  yacht ;  there  is  a  flavor  of  adventure,  a  sans- 
gene,  a — in  short,  everything  in  the  world  that  I  like.  I  shall 
wear  my  cotton  frocks,  and  give  myself  up  to  enjoyment,  lie  on 
the  deck  and  look  up  at  the  blue  sky,  too  deliciously  idle  even 
to  read  the  last  horrid  thing  of  Zola's." 

But  the  Cowes  Regatta  was  already  three  weeks  ahead,  and 
in  the  mean  time  there  was  Goodwood,  and  the  raveled  threads 
of  the  London  season  had  to  be  wound  up.  And  by  this  time 
it  was  known  everywhere  that  the  affair  between  Mr.  Smithson 
and  Maulevrier's  sister  was  really  on.  "  It's  as  settled  a 
business  as  the  entries  and  bets  for  next  year's  Derby,"  said  one 


3o6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

lounger  to  another  in  the  smoking-room  of  the  White  Elephant. 
*'  Play  or  pay,  don't  you  know." 

Lady  Kirkbank  and  Lesbia  had  both  written  to  Lady  Mau- 
levrier,  Lesbia  writing  somewhat  coldly,  very  briefly,  and  in  a 
half  defiant  tone,  that  she  had  accepted  Mr.  Smithson's  offer, 
and  that  she  hoped  her  grandmother  would  be  pleased  with  a 
match  which  everybody  supposed  to  be  extremely  advantageous. 
She  was  going  to  Grasmere  immediately  after  the  Cowes  week 
to  see  her  dear  grandmother,  and  to  be  assured  of  her  approval. 
In  the  mean  while  she  was  awfully  busy  :  there  were  callers 
driving  up  to  the  door  at  that  very  moment,  and  her  brain  was 
racked  by  the  apprehension  that  she  might  not  get  her  new  gown 
in  time  for  the  bachelors'  ball  at  Baron  Grant's  empty  house, 
which  was  to  be  quite  one  of  the  nicest  things  of  the  year,  so 
dearest  grandmother  must  excuse  a  hurried  letter,  etc.,  etc., 
etc. 

Georgie  Kirkbank  was  more  effusive,  much  more  lengthy. 
She  expatiated  upon  the  enormous  alliance  which  her  sweetest 
Lesbia  was  about  to  make,  and  took  credit  to  herself  for  having 
guided  Lesbia's  footsteps  in  the  right  way. 

"  Smithson  is  a  most  difficult  person,"  she  wrote.  "  The  least 
error  of  taste  on  your  dear  girl's  part  would  have  froissed  him. 
Men  with  that  immense  wealth  are  always  suspicious,  ready  to  im- 
agine mercenary  motives,  on  their  guard  against  being  trapped. 
But  Lesbia  had  me  at  her  back,  and  she  managed  him  per- 
fectly. He  is  positively  her  slave,  and  you  will  be  able  to 
twist  him  round  your  little  finger  in  the  matter  of  settlements. 
You  may  do  what  you  like  with  him,  for  the  ground  has  been 
thoroughly  prepared  by  me." 

Ladv  Maulevrier's  reply  was  not  enthusiastic.  She  had  no 
doubt  Mr.  Smithson  was  a  very  good  match  according  to  the 
modern  estimate  of  matrimonial  alliances,  in  which  money 
seemed  to  be  the  Alpha  and  Omega.  But  she  had  cherished 
hopes  of  another  kind.  She  had  hoped  to  see  her  dear  grand- 
daughter wear  one  of  those  noble  and  historic  names  which  are 
a  badge  of  distinction  for  all  time.  She  had  hoped  to  see  her 
enter  one  of  those  grand  old  families  which  are  a  kind  of  royalty. 
And  that  she  should  marry  a  man  whose  sole  distinction  con- 
sisted of  an  immense  fortune,  amassed  heaven  knows  how,  was 
a  terrible  blow  to  her  pride. 

"  But  it  is  not  the  first,"  wrote  Lady  Maulevrier.  "  My  pride 
has  received  crushing  blows  in  days  past,  and  I  ought  to  be 
humbled  to  the  dust.  But  there  is  a  stubborn  resistance  in  na- 
tures which  stand  firm  against   every  shock.     You  and  Lesbia 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


Z<^7 


will  both  be  surprised  to  hear  that  Mary,  from  whom  I  expected 
so  little,  has  made  a  really  good  match.  She  was  married  yes- 
terday afternoon  in  my  morning  room  by  especial  license  to  the 
Earl  of  Hartfield,  the  lover  of  her  choice,  whom  We  at  Fellside 
have  all  known  as  plain  John  Hammond.  He  is  an  admirable 
young  man,  and  sure  to  make  a  great  figure  in  the  world,  as  no 
doubt  you  know  better  than  I  do,  for  you  are  in  the  way  of 
hearing  all  about  him.  His  courtship  of  Mary  was  quite  an 
idvll,  and  the  happy  issue  of  this  romantic  love  affair  has 
cheered  and  comforted  me  more  than  anything  that  has  hap- 
pened since  Lesbia  has  left  me.' 

This  letter,  written  in  Fraulein's  niggling  little  hand,  Lady 
Kirkbank  handed  to  Lesbia,  who  read  it  through  in  silence  , 
but  when  she  came  to  that  part  of  the  letter  which' told  of  her  sis- 
ter's marriage  her  cheek  grew  ashy  pale,  her  brow  contracted,  and 
she  started  to  her  feet  and  stared  at  Lady  Kirkbank  with  wild 
dilated  eyes,  as  if  she  had  been  stung  by  an  adder. 

"  A  strange  mystification,  wasn't  it  ?  "  said  Lady  Kirkbank, 
almost  frightened  at  the  awful  look  in  Lesbia's  face,  which  was 
even  worse  than  Belle  Trinder's  expression  when  she  read  the 
announcement  of  Mr.  Smithson's  flight. 

"Strange  mystification — it  was  base  treacher}^— a  vile  and 
wicked  lie,"  cried  Lesbia,  furiously.  "  What  right  had  he  to 
come  to  us  under  false  colors,  to  pretend  to  be  poor,  a  nobody 
— with  only  the  vaguest  hope  of  making  a  decent  position  in  the 
future.  And  to  offer  himself  under  such  impossible  conditions, 
to  a  girl  brought  up  as  I  had  been — a  girl  educated  by  one  of 
the  proudest  and  most  ambitious  of  women,  to  force  me  to  re- 
nounce everything  except  him.  How  could  he  suppose  that 
any  girl,  so  placed,  could  decide  in  his  favor  ?  If  he  had  loved 
me  he  would  have  told  me  the  truth — he  would  not  have  made 
it  impossible  for  me  to  accept  him." 

**  1  believe  he  is  a  very  high-flown  youngman,"  said  Lady  Kirk- 
bank soothingly,  "  he  was  never  in  my  set  you  know,  dear.  And 
I  suppose  he  had  some  old  Minerva  press  idea  that  he  would 
find  a  girl  who  would  marry  him  for  his  own  sake.  And  your 
sister,  nc  doubt  eager  to  marry  anybody,  poor  child,  for  the  sake 
of  getting  away  from  that  very  lonely  dungeon  of  Lady  Maule 
vrier's,  snapped  at  the  chance  ;  and  by  a  mere  fluke  she  becomes 
a  countess." 

Lesbia  ignored  these  consolatory  remarks.  She  was  pacing 
the  room  like  a  tigress,  her  delicate  cambric  handkerchief 
grasped  between  her  two  hands,  and  torn  and  rent  by  the  con- 
vulsive  action  of  her  fingers.     She  could  have  thrown  herself 


3o8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

from  the  balcony  on  to  the  spikes  of  the  arena  railings,  she  could 
have  dashed  herself  against  yonder  big  plate-glass  window  look- 
ing toward  the  Green  Park,  like  a  bird  which  shatters  its  little 
life  against  the  glass  barrier  which  he  mistakes  for  the  open 
sky.  She  could  have  flung  herself  down  on  the  floor  and 
groveled,  and  torn  her  hair — she  could  have  done  anything 
mad,  wicked,  desperate,  in  the  wild  rage  of  this  moment. 

"  Loved  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "he  never  loved  me.  If  he  had 
he  would  have  told  me  the  truth.  What,  when  I  was  in  his 
arms,  my  head  upon  his  breast,  my  whole  being  surrendered  to 
him,  adoring  him,  what  more  could  he  want  .'*  He  must  have 
known  that  this  meant  real  love.  And  why  should  he  put  it 
upon  me  to  fight  so  hard  a  fight — to  brave  my  grandmother's  an- 
ger— to  be  cursed  by  her — to  face  poverty  for  his  sake  t  I  never 
professed  to  be  a  heroine.  He  knew  that  I  was  a  woman,  with 
all  a  woman's  weakness,  a  woman's  fear  of  trial  and  difficulty 
in  the  future.     It  was  a  cowardly  thing  to  use  me  so." 

"  It  was,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank,  in  the  same  soothing  tone, 
"but  if  you  liked  this  Hammond  Hartfield  creature  a  little  in 
those  days,  I  know  you  have  outlived  that  liking  long  ago." 

"  Of  course  ;  but  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  know  one  has  been , 
fooled,  cheated,  weighed  in   the  balance  and  found  wanting," 
said  Lesbia,  scornfully. 

She  was  taming  down  a  little  by  this  time,  ashamed  of  that 
outbreak  of  violent  passion,  feeling  that  she  had  revealed  too 
much  to  Lady  Kirkbank. 

"  It  was  a  most  caddish  thing  to  do,"  said  Georgie,  "  and  this 
Hartfield  is  just  what  I  always  thought  him — an  insufferable 
prig.  However,  my  sweetest  'girl,  there  is  really  nothing  to  la- 
ment in  the  matter.  Your  sister  has  made  a  good  alliance, 
which  will  score  high  in  your  favor  by  and  by,  and  you  are  go- 
ing to  marry  a  man  who  is  three  times  as  rich  as  Lord  Hartfield. 

"  Rich,  yes — and  nothing  bilt  rich ;  while  Lord  Hartfield  is  a 
man  of  the  very  highest  standing,  belongs  to  the  flower  of  Eng- 
lish nobility.  Rich,  yes ;  Mr.  Smithson  is  rich  ;  but,  as  Lady 
Maulevrier  says,  he  has  made  his  money  Heaven  knows  how^" 

"Mr.  Smithson  has  not  made  his  money  Heaven  knows  how," 
answered  Lady  Kirkbank,  indignantly.  "  He  has  made  it  in 
cochineal,  in  iron,  in  gunpowder,  in  coal,  in  all  kinds  of  com- 
modities. Everybody  in  the  city  know^s  how  he  has  made  his 
money,  and  that  he  has  a  genius  for  turning  everything  into 
gold.  If  the  gold  changes  back  into  one  of  the  baser  metals,  it  is 
only  when  Mr.  Smithson  has  let  it  go  again.  And  now  he  has 
quite   done  with  the  city.     The   House  is  the  only  business  of 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  309 

his  life,  and  he  is  becoming  a  power  in  the  House.  You  have 
every  reason  to  be  proud  of  your  choice,  Lesbia." 

*'  I  will  try  to  be  proud  of  it,"  said  Lesbia,  resolutely.  "  I 
will  not  be  scorned  and  trampled  upon  by  Mary." 

"  She  seemed  a  harmless  kind  of  girl,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank, 
as  if  she  had  been  talking  of  a  housemaid. 

"  She  is  a  designing  minx,"  exclaimed  Lesbia,  "  and  has  set 
her  cap  at  that  man  from  the  very  beginning." 

"  But  she  could  not  have  known  that  he  was  Lord  Hartfield." 

'•  No,  but  he  was  a  man,  and  that  was  enough  for  her." 


From  this  time  forward  there  was  a  change  in  Lady  Lesbia's 
style  and  manner,  a  change  very  much  for  the  worse,  as  old-fash- 
ioned people  thought ;  but,  to  the  taste  of  some  among  Lady 
Kirkbank 's  set,  the  change  was  an  improvement.  She  was  gayer 
than  of  old,  gay  with  a  reckless  vivacity,  intensely  eager  for  action 
and  excitement,  for  cards,  and  racing,  and  all  the  strongest 
stimulants  of  fashionable  life.  Most  people  ascribed  this  in- 
creased vivacity,  this  electric  manner,  to  the  fact  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Horace  Smithson.  She  was  giddy  with  triumph,  daz- 
zled by  a  vision  of  the  gold  which  was  so  soon  to  be  hers. 

"  Egad,  if  I  saw  myself  in  a  fair  way  of  being  able  to  write 
checks  upon  such  an  account  as  Smithson's  I  should  be  as  wild 
as  Lady  Lesbia,"  said  one  of  the  damsel's  military  admirers  at 
the  In  and  Out  club.  "  And  I  believe  the  young  lady  was 
slightly  dipped." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  "  asked  his  friend. 

'-'•  A  mother  of  mine,"  answered  the  youth,  with  an  apologetic 
air,  as  if  he  hardly  cared  to  own  such  a  humdrum  relationship. 
"  Seraphine  the  dressmaker  was  complaining — wanted  to  see 
the  color  of  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden's  money — vulgar  curiosity — 
asked  my  old  mother  if  she  thought  it  was  safe,  and  so  on. 
That's  how  I  came  to  know  all  about  it." 

"  Well,  she'll  be  able  to  pay  Seraphine  next  season." 

Lord  Maulevrier  came  back  to  London  directly  after  his  sis- 
ter's wedding.  The  event,  which  came  off  so  quietly,  so  happily, 
tilled  him  with  unqualified  joy.  He  had  hoped  from  the  very  first 
that  his  Molly  would  win  the  Cup,  even  while  Lesbia  was  making 
all  the  running,  as  he  said  afterward.  And  Molly  had  won,  and 
was  the  wife  of  one  the  best  young  men  in  England.  Maulevrier, 
albeit  unused  to  the  melting  mood,  shed  a  tear  or  two  for  very 
joy  as  the  sister  he  loved  and  the  friend  of  his  boyhood  and 


310  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

youth  stood  side  by  side  in  the  quiet  room  at  Grasmere,  and 
spoke  the  solemn  words  that  made  them  one  forever. 

The  first  news  he  heard  after  his  return  to  town  was  of  Les- 
bia's  engagement,  which  was  common  talk  at  the  clubs.  The 
visitors  at  Rood  Hall  had  come  back  to  London  full  of  the  event, 
and  were  proud  of  giving  a  detailed  account  of  the  affair  to  out- 
siders. 

They  all  talked  patronizingly  of  Smithson,  and  seemed  to 
think  it  a  rather  wonderful  fact  that  he  did  not  drop  his  aspirates 
or  eat  peas  with  a  knife. 

"  A  man  of  sterling  metal,"  said  the  gossips,  "who  can  hold 
his  own  with  many  a  fellow  born  in  the  purple." 

Maulevrier  called  in  Arlington  Street,  but  Lady  Kirkbank 
and  her  protegee  were  out ;  and  it  was  at  a  cricket  match  at  the 
Orleans  Club  that  the  brother  and  sister  met  for  the  first  time 
after  Lord  Hartfield's  wedding,  which  by  this  time  had  been  in 
all  the  papers,  a  very  simple  announcement : 

"  On  the  29th  instant,  at  Grasmere,  by  the  Rev.  Douglas 
Brooke,  the  Earl  of  Hartfield  to  Mary,  youngest  daughter  of  the 
fifth  Earl  of  Maulevrier." 

Lesbia  was  the  center  of  a  rather  noisy  little  court,  in  which 
Mr.  Smithson  was  conspicuous  by  his  superior  reserve. 

He  did  not  exert  himself  as  a  lover,  paid  no  compliments,  was 
not  sentimental.  The  pearl  was  won,  and  he  wore  it  very  quiet- 
ly ;  but  wherever  Lesbia  went  he  went ;  she  was  hardly  ever  out 
of  his  sight. 

Maulevrier  received  the  coolest  possible  greeting.  Lesbia 
turned  with  anger  at  sight  of  him,  for  his  presence  reminded  her 
of  the  most  humiliating  passage  in  her  life  ;  but  the  big  red  satin 
sunshade  concealed  that  pale  angry  look,  and  nothing  in  Lesbia's 
manner  betrayed  emotion. 

"  Where  have  you  been  hiding  yourself  all  this  time,  and  why 
were  you  not  at  Henley  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  been  at  Grasmere." 

"Oh,  you  were  a  witness  of  that  most  romantic  marriage. 
The  '  Lady  of  Lyons '  reversed,  the  gardener's  son  turning  out 
to  be  an  earl.     Was  it  excruciatingly  funny  ?  " 

"  It  was  one  of  the  most  solemn  weddings  I  ever  saw." 

"  Solemn  !  What,  with  my  tombov  sister  a  bride  ?  Impossi- 
ble !  ' 

"  Your  sister  ceased  to  be  a  tomboy  when  she  fell  in  love. 
She  is  a  sweet  and  womanly  woman  and  will  make  an  adorable 
wdfe  to  the  finest  fellow  I  know.  I  hear  I  am  to  congratulate 
you,  Lesbia,  upon  your  engagement  with  Mr.  Smithson." 


PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE.  3 1 1 

"  If  you  think  I  am  the  person  to  be  congratulated  you  are  at 
libert}^  to  do  so.     My  engagement  is  a  fact." 

"  Oil,  of  course,  Mr.  Smithson  is  the  winner.  But  as  I  hope 
you  intend  to  be  happy  I  shall  wish  you  joy.  I  am  told  Smithson 
is  a  really  excellent  fellow  when  one  gets  to  know  him,  and  I  shall 
make  it  my  business  to  become  better  acquainted  with  him." 

Smithson  was  standing  just  out  of  hearing,  watching  the  bowl- 
ing. Maulevrier  went  over  to  him  and  shook  hands,  their 
acquaintance  hitherto  having  been  of  the  slightest,  and  very  shy 
upon  his  Lordship's  part,  but  now  Smithson  could  see  that 
Maulevrier  meant  to  be  cordial. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A   RASTAQUOUERE. 

There  was  a  dinner-party  in  one  of  the  new  houses  in  Gros- 
venor  Place  that  evening,  to  which  Lady  Kirkbank  and  Lesbia 
had  been  bidden.  The  new  house  belonged  to  a  new  man,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  made  millions  out  of  railways  and  other 
gigantic  achievements  in  the  engineering  line ;  and  the  new 
man  and  his  wife  were  friends  of  Mr.  Smithson's,  who  had 
made  the  simple  Georgie's  acquaintance  within  the  past  three 
weeks. 

"  Of  course,  they  are  stupid,  my  dear,"  she  remarked  in  re- 
sponse to  some  slighting  remark  of  Lesbia's,  "  but  I  am  always 
willing  to  know  rich  people.  One  drops  in  for  so  many  good 
things,  and  they  never  want  any  return  in  kind.  It  is  quite 
enough  for  them  to  be  allowed  to  spend  their  money  upon  us." 

The  house  was  gorgeous  in  all  the  glory  of  the  very  latest  fashion 
in  upholstery ;  hall  Algerian  ;  dining-room  Pompeiian  ;  drawing- 
room  early  Italian ;  music-room  Louis  Quatorze ;  billiard-room 
mediaeval  English.  The  dinner  was  as  magnificent  as  dinner 
can  be  made.  Three-fourths  of  the  guests  were  the  haute  gomme 
of  the  financial  world  and  perspired  gold.  The  other  third  be- 
longed to  a  class  which  Mr.  Smithson  described  somewhat 
contemptuously  as  the  shake-back  nobility.  An  Irish  peer,  a 
younger  son  of  a  ducal  house  that  had  run  to  seed,  a  political 
agitator,  a  grass-widow  whose  titled  husband  was  governor  of  an 
obscure  colony,  an  ancient  dowager  with  hair  which  was  too  lux- 
uriant to  be  anything  but  a  wig,  and  diamonds  which  were  so 
large  as  to  suggest  paste. 


312 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


Lesbia  sat  by  her  affianced  at  the  glittering  table,  lighted  with 
clusters  of  wax  candles,  which  shone  upon  a  level  parterre  of  tea 
roses,  gardenias  and  gloire  de  Malmaison  carnation,  from  which 
rose  at  intervals  groups  of  silver-gilt  dolphins,  supporting  shal- 
low golden  dishes  piled  with  peaches,  grapes  and  all  the  cost- 
liest produce  of  Covent  Garden. 

Conversation  was  not  particularly  brilliant,  nor  had  the  guests 
an  elated  air.  The  thermometer  was  nearly  eighty,  and  at  this 
period  of  the  season  everybody  was  tired  of  this  kind  of  dinner, 
and  would  gladly  have  foregone  the  greatest  achievements  of 
culinary  art  in  favor  of  a  chicken  and  a  salad,  eaten  under  green 
leaves,  in  a  garden  at  Wargrave  or  Henley,  within  sound  of  the 
rippling  river. 

On  Lesbia's  right  hand  there  was  a  portly  personage  of  Jew- 
ish type,  dark  to  swarthiness  and  som.ewhat  oily,  whose  every 
word  suggested  bullion.  He  and  Mr.  Smithson  were  evidently 
acquaintances  of  long  standing,  and  Mr.  Smithson  presented 
him  to  Lesbia,  and  he  joined  in  iheir  conversation  now  and  then. 

She  wondered  how  long  the  two  men  were  gomg  to  prose  about 
mines  and  shares  in  those  subdued  half  mysterious  voices,  tell- 
ing each  other  curious  facts  in  half  expressed  phrases,  which 
would  have  been  dark  to  the  outside  world  ;  but  while  she  was 
languidly  wondering,  a  change  in  her  lover's  manner  startled  her 
into  keenest  curiosity. 

"Montesma  is  in  Paris,"  said  Mr.  Sampayo,  the  dark  gentle- 
man ;  "  I  dined  with  him  last  week  at  the  Continental." 

Mr.  Smithson's  complexion  faded  curiously,  and  a  leaden 
blankness  came  over  his  countenance,  as  of  a  man  whose  heart 
and  lungs  suddenly  refuse  their  office.  But  in  a  few  moments 
he  was  smiling  feebly. 

"  Indeed.     I  thought  he  was  played  out  years  ago." 

"  A  man  of  that  kind  is  never  played  out.  Don  Gomez  de 
Montesma  is  as  clever  as  Satan,  as  handsome  as  Apollo,  and 
he  bears  one  of  the  oldest  names  in  Castile.  Such  a  man  will 
always  come  to  the  front.  C'est  un  rastaquouere,  mais  rasta- 
quouere  de  bon  genre.  You  knew  him  intimately,  la  bas,  I 
believe  ? " 

"In  Cuba,  yes,  we  were  pretty  good  friends  once." 

"And  were  wseful  to  each  other,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Sampayo 
pleasantly.  "  Was  that  Argentiferous  Copper  Company  m  '64 
yours  or  his  ? " 

"  There  were  a  good  many  people  concerned  in  it." 

"No  doubt;  it  takes  a  good  many  people  to  work  that  kind 
of  thing ;  but  I  fancy  you  and  Montesma  were  about  the  only 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


313 


tw.o  who  came  out  of  it  pleasantly.  However,  that's  an  old 
song.     You  have  had  so  many  good  things  since  then." 

"  Did  Montesma  talk  of  coming  to  London  t  " 

"  He  did  not  talk  about  it,  but  he  would  hardly  go  back  to 
the  tropics  without  having  a  look  round  on  both  sides  of  the 
channel.  He  was  always  fond  of  society,  pretty  women,  dancing 
and  amusement  of  all  kinds.  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  see 
him  here  before  the  end  of  the  season." 

Mr.  Smithson  pursued  the  subject  no  further.  He  turned  to 
Lesbia,  who  had  been  curiously  interested  in  this  little  bit  of 
conversation — interested  first  because  Smithson  had  seemed 
agitated  by  the  mention  of  the  Spaniard's  name  ;  secondly,  be- 
cause of  the  description  of  the  man,  which  had  a  romantic 
sound.  The  very  word  tropics  suggested  a  romance.  And 
Lesbia,  whose  mind  was  jaded  by  the  monotony  of  a  London 
season,  the  threadbare  fabric  of  society  conversation,  kindled  at 
any  image  which  appealed  to  her  fancy. 

Clever  as  Satan,  handsome  as  Apollo,  scion  of  an  old  Cas- 
tilian  family,  fresh  from  the  tropics.  Her  imagination  dwelt  upon 
the  ideas  which  these  words  had  conjured  up. 

Three  days  after  this  she  was  at  the  opera  with  her  chaperon, 
her  lover  in  attendance  as  usual.  The  opera  was  Faust,  with 
Nilsson  as  Marguerite.  After  the  performance  they  were  to 
drive  down  to  Twickenham  on  Mr.  Smithson's  drag,  and  to 
dance  and  sup  at  the  Orleans.  The  last  ball  of  the  season  was 
on  this  evening;  and  Lesbia  had  been  persuaded  that  it  was  to 
be  a  particular  recherche  ball,  and  that  only  the  very  nicest 
people  were  to  be  present.  At  any  rate  the  drive  under  the 
light  of  a  July  moon  would  be  delicious  ;  and  if  they  did  not 
like  the  people  they  found  they  could  eat  their  supper  and  come 
away  immediately  after,  as  Lady  Kirkbank  remarked  philosoph- 
ically. 

The  opera  was  nearly  over — that  grand  scene  of  Valentine's 
death  was  on — and  Lesbia  was  listening  breathlessly  to  every 
note,  watching  every  look  of  the  actors,  when  came  a  modest 
Utile  knock  at  the  door  of  her  box.  She  darted  an  angry  glance 
round,  shrugged  her  shoulders  vexatiously.  What  Goth  had  dared 
to  knock  during  that  thrilling  scene  t 

Mr.  Smithson  rose  and  went  to  the  door  and  quietly  opened 
it. 

A  dark,  handsome  man,  who  was  a  total  stranger  to  Lesbia, 
glided  in,  shaking  hands  with  Smithson  as  he  entered. 

Till  this  moment  Lesbia's  whole  being  had  been  absorbed  in 
the  scene — that  bitter  anathema  of  the  brother's,  the  sister's  crv 


314 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


of  anguish  and  shame.  Where  else  is  there  tragedy  so  human, 
so  enthralling — grief  that  so  wrings  the  spectator's  heart  ?  It 
needed  a  Goethe  and  a  Gounod  to  produce  this  masterpiece. 

In  an  instant,  in  a  flash,  Lesbia's  interest  in  the  stage  was 
gone.  Her  first  glance  at  the  stranger  told  her  who  he  was. 
The  olive  tint,  the  eyes  of  deepest  black,  the  grand  form  of  the 
head  and  noble  chiseling  of  the  features  could  belong  only  to  ' 
that  scion  of  an  old  Castilian  race  whom  she  had  heard  describ- 
ed the  other  evening — "  Clever  as  Satan,  handsome  as  Apollo." 
Yes,  this  must  be  the  man,  Don  Gomez  de  Montesma. 
There  was  nothing  in  Mr.  Smithson's  manner  to  indicate  that 
the  Spaniard  was  an  unwelcome  guest.  On  the  contrary,  Mr. 
Smithson  received  him  with  cordiality  which  in  a  man  of  naturally 
reserved  manner  seemed  almost  rapture.  The  curtain  fell,  and 
he  presented  Don  Gomez  to  Lady  Kirkbank  and  Lady  Lesbia ; 
whereupon  dear  Georgie  began  to  gush,  after  her  wont,  and  to 
ask  a  good  many  questions  in  a  manner  that  was  too  girlish  to 
seem  impertinent. 

"  How  perfectly  you  speak  English  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
must  have  lived  in  England  a  good  deal." 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  my  misfortune  to  have  lived  here  very 
little  ;  but  I  have  known  a  good  many  English  and  Americans 
in  Cuba  and  in  Paris." 

•  "  In  Cuba  ?  Do  you  really  come  from  Cuba  ?  I  have  always 
fancied  that  Cuba  must  be  an  altogether  charming  place  to  live 
in — like  Biarritz  or  Pau,  don't  you  know,  only  further  away. 
Do  please  tell  me  where  it  is,  and  what  kind  of  a  place." 

Geographically,  Lady  Kirkbank's  mind  was  a  blank.  It  was 
quite  a  revelation  to  her  to  find  that  Cuba  was  an  island. 

"  It  must  be  a  lovely  spot,"  exclaimed  the  fervid  creature. 
"  Let  me  see,  now,  what  do  we  get  from  Cuba — cigars — and — 
and  tobacco.     And  I  suppose  in  Cuba  eveiybody  smokes  t  " 
"  Men,  women  and  children." 

"  How  delicious  !  Would  I  were  a  Cuban  !  And  the  natives, 
are  they  nice  ?  " 

"There  are  no  aborigines.  The  Indians  whom  Columbus 
found  soon  perished  off  the  face  of  the  island.  European  civil- 
ization generally  has  that  effect.  But  one  of  our  most  benevo- 
lent captain-generals  provided  us  with  an  imported  population 
of  niggers." 

"  How  delightful.  I  have  always  longed  to  live  among  a  slave 
population,  dear  submissive  black  things,  dressed  in  coral  neck- 
laces and  feathers,  instead  of  the  horrid  overfed  wretches  we 
have  to  wait  upon  us.     And  if  the  aborigines  were  not  wanted  it 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


315 


was  just  as  well  for  them  to  die  out,  wasn't  it?  "  prattled  Lady 
Kirkbank. 

"  It  was  very  accommodating  of  them,  no  doubt.  Yet,  we 
could  employ  half  a  million  of  them  in  draining  our  swamps. 
Agriculture  suffered  by  the  loss  of  Indian  labor." 

"I  suppose  they  were  like  the  creatures  in  Pizarro,  poor  dear 
5^ellow  things  with  brass  bracelets,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  I 
remember  seeing  Macready  as  Pizarro  when  I  was  quite  a  little 
thing." 

And  now  the  curtain  rose  for  the  last  act. 

"  Do  you  care  about  staying  for  the  end .?  "  asked  Mr.  Smith- 
son  of  Lesbia.     "  It  will  make  us  rather  late  at  the  Orleans." 

"  Never  mind  how  late  we  are,"  said  Lesbia,  imperiously.  "  I 
have  always  been  cheated  out  of  this  last  act^or  somebody's 
stupid  party.  Imagine  losing  Gounod  and  Nilsson  for  the  sake 
of  struggling  through  the  mob  on  somebody's  staircase,  and 
being  elbowed  by  inane  young  men,  with  gardenias  in  their 
coats." 

Lady  Lesbia  had  a  pretty  little  way  of  opposing  any  suggestion 
of  her  sweetheart.  She  was  resolved  to  treat  him  as  baaly  as  a 
future  husband  could  be  treated.  In  consenting  to  marry  him 
she  had  done  him  a  favor,  which  was  a  great  deal  more  than 
such  a  person  had  any  right  to  expect. 

She  leant  forward  to  watch  and  listen,  with  her  elbow  resting 
on  the  velvet  cushion — her  head  upon  her  hand,  and  she  seemed 
absorbed  in  the  scene  ;  but  this  was  mere  outward  seeming.  All 
the  enchantment  of  music  and  acting  was  over.  She  only  heard 
and  saw  vaguely,  as  if  it  were  a  shadowy  scene  enacted  ever  so 
far  away.  Every  now  and  then  her  eyes  glanced  involuntarily 
toward  Don  Gomez,  who  stood  leaning  against  the  back  of  the 
box,  pale,  languid,  graceful,  poetic,  an  altogether  different  type 
of  manhood  from  that  which  she  had  of  late  been  accustomed  to 
satiety. 

Those  deep  dark  eyes  of  his  had  a  dreamy  look.  They  gazed 
across  the  dazzling  house,  into  space,  above  Lady  Lesbia's  head. 
They  seemed  to  see  nothing,  and  they  certainly  were  not  looking 
at  her. 

Don  Gomez  was  the  first  man  she  ever  remembered  to  have 
been  presented  to  her  who  did  not  favor  her  with  a  good  deal 
of  hard  staring,  more  or  less  discreetly  managed,  during  the  first 
ten  minutes  of  their  acquaintance.  On  him  her  beauty  fell  flat. 
He  evidently  failed  to  recognize  her  supreme  loveliness.  It 
might  be  that  she  was  the  wrong  type  for  Cuba.  Every  nation 
has  its  own  Venus,  and  that  far-away  spot  in  the  torrid  zone 


3i6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

might  have  a  somewhat  barbarous  idea  of  beauty.  At  any  rate 
Don  Gomez  was  apparently  unimpressed.  And  yet  Lesbia  flat- 
tered herself  that  she  was  looking  her  best  to-night  and  that  her 
costume  was  a  success.  She  wore  a  white  satin  gown,  short  in 
the  skirt,  for  the  luxury  of  freedom  in  waltzing,  and  made  with 
Quaker-like  simplicity,  the  bodice  high  to  the  throat,  fitting  her 
like  a  sheath. ' 

Her  only  ornaments  were  a  garland  of  scarlet  poppies  on  one 
shoulder  and  a  large  diamond  heart  which  Mr.  Smithson  had 
lately  given  her — "  a  bullock's  heart,"  as  Lady  Kirkbank  called 
it. 

When  the  curtain  fell,  and  not  till  then,  she  rose  and  allowed 
herself  to  be  clad  in  a  dark  brown  velvet  Newmarket  coat,  which 
completely  covered  her  short  satin  gown.  She  had  a  little 
brown  velvet  toque  to  match  the  Newmarket,  and  thus  attired 
she  would  be  able  to  take  her  seat  on  the  drag  which  was  wait- 
ing for  her  on  the  quietest  side  of  Covent  Garden, 

"  Why  should  not  you  go  with  us,  Don  Gomez  ?  "  exclaimed 
Lady  Kirkbank  in  a  gush  of  hospitality.  "  The  drive  will  be 
charming — not  equal  to  your  tropical  Cuba — but  intensely  nice. 
And  the  gardens  will  be  something  too  sweet  on  such  a  night  as 
this.  I  knew  them  when  the  dear  Due  d'Aumale  was  there.  Ay 
de  mi,  such  a  man  !  " 

Lady  Kirkbank  sighed,  with  the  air  of  having  known  his  Al- 
tesse  Royale  intimately. 

"  I  should  be  charmed,"  said  Don  Gomez,  "  if  I  thought  my 
friend  Smithson  wanted  me.  Would  you  really  like  to  have  me, 
Smithson  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  enchanted." 

"  And  there  is  room  on  the  drag  ?  " 

"  Room  enough  for  half  a  dozen.  I  am  only  taking  Sir 
George  Kirkbank  and  Colonel  Delville — whom  w^e  are  to  pick 
up  at  the  White  Elephant — and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mostyn,  who  are 
here." 

"  A  nice  snug  little  party,"  exclaimed  that  charming  optimist, 
Lady  Kirkbank.  "  I  hate  a  crowd  on  a  drag.  The  way  some 
of  the  members  of  the  Four-in-hand  Club  load  their  coaches  on 
parade  reminds  me  of  a  Beanfeast." 

They  found  Lady  Kirkbank's  footman  and  one  of  Mr.  Smith- 
son's  grooms  wailing  in  the  hall  of  the  opera  house.  The 
groom  to  conduct  them  to  the  spot  where  the  drag  was  waiting, 
the  footman  to  carry  wraps  and  take  his  mistress's  final  orders. 
There  was  a  Bohemian  flavor  in  the  little  walk  to  the  great 
fruit  garden,  which  was  odorous  of  bruised  peaches  and  stale 


PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE.  3 1 7 

salad  as  they  passed  it.  Wagon  loads  of  cabbages  and  other 
garden  stuff  were  standing  about  by  the  old  church,  the  road- 
way was  littered  with  the  refuse  of  the  market,  and  the  air 
was  faint  and  heavy  with  the  scent  of  herbs  and  flowers. 

Lesbia  mounted  lightly  to  her  place  of  honor  on  the  box 
seat,  and  Lady  Kirkbank  was  hoisted  up  after  her.  Mr.  and 
Mrs,  Mostyn  followed,  and  then  Don  Gomez  took  his  seat  by 
Lady  Kirkbank's  side,  and  behind  Lesbia,  a  vantage  point 
from  which  he  could  talk  to  her  as  much  as  he  liked.  Mr. 
Smithson  seated  himself  a  minute  afterward,  and  drove  off 
by  King  Street  and  Leicester  Square  and  on  to  Piccadilly, 
steering  cleverly  through  the  traffic  of  cabs  and  carriages 
which  was  at  its  apogee  just  now  when  all  the  theaters  were 
disgorging  their  crowds.  Piccadilly  was  quieter,  yet  there  were 
plenty  of  carriages,  late  people  going  to  parties  and  early  peo- 
ple going  home,  horses  slipping  and  sliding  on  stones  or  wood 
half  the  road-way  up,  and  luminous  with  lanterns.  They 
stopped  in  front  of  the  White  Elephant,  where  they  picked 
up  Sir  George  Kirkbank  and  Colonel  Delville,  a  big  man  with 
a  patriarchal  head  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  finest  whist 
players  in  London,  and  to  make  a  handsome  income  by  his 
play.  He  had  ridden  in  the  Balaklava  charge,  was  a  favor- 
ite everywhere,  and  albeit  no  genius,  was  much  cleverer  than 
his  friend  and  school-fellow,  George  Kirkbank.  They  had 
been  at  Eton  together,  had  both  made  love  to  the  lively 
Georgie,  and  had  been  inseparables  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

"  Couldn't  get  on  without  Delville,"  said  Sir  George : 
"  dooced  smart  fellow,  sir.  Knows  the  ropes  and  does  all  the 
thinking  for  both  of  us." 

And  now  they  were  fairly  started,  and  the  team  fell  into  a 
rattling  pace,  with  the  road  pretty  clear  before  them.  Hyde 
Park  was  one  umbrageous  darkness,  edged  by  long  chains  of 
golden  lights.  Coolness  and  silence  enfolded  all  things  in  the 
summer  midnight,  and  Lesbia,  not  prone  to  romance,  sank  into 
a  dreamy  state  of  mind,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  seat  and 
watched'  the  shadowy  trees  glide  by,  the  long  vista  of  lamps 
and  verdure  in  front  of  her.  She  was  glad  that  no  one  talked 
to  her,  for  talk  of  any  kind  must  have  broken  the  spell.  Don 
Gomez  sat  like  a  statue  in  his  place  behind  her.  From  Lady 
Kirkbank,  the  loquacious,  came  a  gentle  sound  of  snoring,  a 
low  ladylike  snore,  breathed  softly  at  intervals,  like  a  sigh. 
Mr.  Smithson  had  his  team,  and  his  own  thoughts,  too,  for  oc- 
cupation, thoughts   which  to-night  were  not  altogether  pleasant. 

At  the  back  of  the  coach  Mrs.  Mostyn  was  descanting  of  the 


3i8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

evolution  of  the  nautilus  and  the  relationship  of  protoplasm 
and  humanity  to  Colonel  Delville,  who  sat  smiling  placidly  be- 
hind an  immense  cigar,  and  accepted  the  most  stupendous  facts 
and  the  most  appalling  theories  with  a  friendly  little  nod  of  his 
handsome  head. 

Mr.  Mostyn  frankly  slept,  as  it  was  his  custom  to  do  upon 
all  convenient  occasions.     He  called  it  recuperating. 

"  Frank  ought  to  be  delightfully  fresh,  for  he  recuperated  all 
the  way  down,"  said  his  wife  when  they  alighted  in  the  dewy 
garden  at  Twickenham,  in  front  of  the  lamplit  portico. 

''  I  wouldn't  have  minded  his  recuperating  if  he  hadn't 
snored  so  abominably,"  remarked  Colonel  Delville. 

It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  and  the  ball  had  thinned  a  little, 
which  made  it  all  the  better  for  those  who  remamed.  Mr. 
Smithson's  orders  had  been  given  two  days  ago,  and  the  A-ery 
best  of  waiters  had  been  told  off  for  his  especial  service.  The 
ladies  went  upstairs  to  take  off  their  wrappings  and  mufflings, 
and  Lesbia  emerged  dazzling  from  her  brown  velvet  New- 
market, while  Lady  Kirkbank,  bending  closely  over  the  lookmg- 
glass,  like  a  witch  over  a  cauldron,  revivified  her  complexion 
with  cotton  wool. 

They  went  through  the  conservatory  to  the  octagon  dining- 
room,  where  the  supper  was  ready,  a  special  supper,  on  a  table 
by  a  window,  a  table  laden  with  exotics  and  brilljant  with  glass 
and  silver.  The  supper  was  of  course  perfect  in  its  way.  Mr. 
Smithson's  chief  nad  been  down  to  see  about  it,  and  Mr.  Smith- 
son's  own  particular  champagne  and  the  claret  grown  on  his 
own  particular  clos  in  the  Gironde  had  teen  sent  down  for  the 
feast.  No  common  cuisine,  no  common  wine  could  be  good 
enough  ;  and  yet  there  was  a  day  when  the  cheapest  Gargotte 
in  Belleville  or  Montmatre  was  good  enough  for  Mr.  Smithson. 
There  had  been  days  on  which  he  did  not  dine  at  all,  and  when 
the  fumes  of  a  gibelotte  steaming  from  a  workman's  restaurant 
made  his  mouth  water. 

The  supper  was  all  life  and  gayety.  Every  one  was  hun- 
gry and  thirsty,  and  freshened  by  the  drive,  except  Lesbia. 
She  was  singularly  silent,  eat  hardly  anything,  but  drank  three 
or  four  glasses  of  champagne. 

Don  Gomez  was  not  a  great  talker.  He  had  the  air  of  a 
prince  of  the  blood  royal,  who  expects  other  people  to  talk  and 
to  keep  him  amused.  But  the  little  he  said  was  to  the  point. 
He  had  a  fine  baritone,  very  low  and  subdued,  and  a  languor 
which  was  almost  insolent,  but  not  without  its  charm.  There 
was  an  air  of  originality  about  the  manner  and  the  man. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  319 

He  was  the  typical  rastaquouere,  a  man  of  finished  manners, 
and  unknown  antecedents,  a  foreigner,  apparently  rich,  ob- 
viously accomplished,  but  with  that  indefinable  air  which  be- 
speaks the  adventurer  and  which  gives  society  as  fair  a  warning 
as  if  the  man  wore  a  placard  on  his  shoulder  with  the  word 
Cave. 

But  to  Lesbia  this  Spaniard  was  the  first  really  interesting 
man  she  had  met  since  she  saw  John  Hammond ,  and  her 
interest  in  him  was  much  more  vivid  than  her  mterest  in  Ham- 
mond at  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance.  That  pale  face, 
with  its  tint  of  old  ivory,  those  thin,  finely-cut  lips,  indicative  of 
diabolical  craft,  could  she  but  read  aright,  those  unfathomable 
eyes,  touched  her  fancy  as  it  had  never  yet  been  touched,  awoke 
within  her  that  latent  vein  of  romance,  self-abnegation,  su- 
preme foolishness  which  lurks  in  the  nature  of  every  woman,  be 
she  chaste  as  ice  and  pure  as  snow. 

The  supper  was  long.  It  w^as  past  two  o'clock,  and  the  ball- 
room was  thinly  occupied  when  Mr.  Smithson's  party  went  there. 

"  You  won't  dance  to-night,  I  suppose  t "  said  Smithson,  as 
Lesbia  and  he  went  slowly  down  the  room  arm-in-arm.  It  was 
in  a  pause  between  two  waltzes.  The  big  window  at  the  end 
was  opened  to  the  summer  night,  and  the  room  was  delightfully 
cool.     "  You  must  be  horribly  tired  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  tired,  and  I  mean  to  waltz,  if  any  one 
will  ask  me,"  replied  Lesbia  decisively. 

"  I  ought  to  have  asked  you  to  dance,  and  then  it  would  have 
been  the  other  way,"  said  Smithson,  with  a  touch  of  acrimony. 
"  Surely  you  have  dancing  enough  in  town,  and  you  might 
be  obliging  for  once  in  a  way,  and  come  and  sit  with  me 
in  the  garden,  and  listen  to  the  nightingales." 

"  There  are  no  nightingales  after  June.  There  is  the  Ma- 
nola,"  as  the  band  struck  up,  "  my  very  favorite  waltz." 

Don  Gomez  was  at  her  elbow  at  this  moment. 

"  May  I  have  the  honor  of  this  waltz  with  you.  Lady  Lesbia  ?  " 
he  asked,  and  then  with  a  seriocomic  glance  at  his  stoutish 
friend,  "  I  don't  think  Smithson  waltzes  ? " 

"  I  have  been  told  that  nobody  can  waltz  who  has  been  born 
on  this  side  of  the  Pyrenees,"  answered  Lesbia,  withdrawing 
her  arm  from  her  lover's,  and  slipping  it  through  the  Spaniard's, 
with  the  air  of  a  slave  who  obeys  a  master. 

Smithson  looked  daggers,  and  retired  to  a  corner  of  the  room 
glowering.  Were  a  man  twenty-two  times  a  millionaire,  like 
the  Parisian  Rothschild,  he  could  not  find  armor  against  the 
poisoned  arrows  of  jealousy.     Don  Gomez  had  many  of  those 


320  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

accomplishments  which  make  men  dangerous,  but  as  a  dancer 
he  was  hors  ligne — and  Horace  Smithson  knew  that  there  is  no 
surer  road  to  a  girl's  fancy  than  the  magic  circle  of  a  waltz. 

Those  two  were  floating  round  the  room  in  the  old  slow  legato 
step,  which  recalled  to  Smithson  the  picture  of  a  still  more 
spacious  room  in  an  island  under  the  Southern  Cross — the  blue 
water  of  the  bay  shining  yonder  under  the  starlight  of  the  trop- 
ics, fire-flies  gleaming  and  flashing  in  the  foliage  beyond  the 
open  windows,  fire-flies  flashing  amidst  the  gauzy  draperies  of 
the  dancers,  and  this  same  Gomez  revolving  with  the  same  slow 
languid  grace,  his  arm  enlacing  the  svelte  figure  of  a  woman 
whose  Southern  beauty  outshone  Lesbia's  blonde  English  loveli- 
ness as  the  tropical  stars  outshone  the  lamps  which  light  our 
colder  skies.  Yes,  every  detail  of  the  scene  flashed  back  into 
his  mind,  as  if  a  curtain  had  been  suddenly  plucked  back  from 
a  long-hidden  picture.  The  Cuban's  tall  slim  figure,  the  head 
gently  bent  toward  his  partner's  head,  as  at  this  moment,  and 
those  dark  velvety  eyes  looking  up  at  him.  Intoxicated  with 
that  nameless,  indefinable  fascination  which  it  is  the  lot  of  some 
men  to  exercise. 

"  He  robbed  me  of  her !  "  thought  Smithson  gloomily.  "  Will 
he  rob  me  of  this  one  too }  Surely  not !  Havana  is  Havana — 
and  this  one  is  not  a  Creole.  If  I  cannot  trust  her  there  is  no 
woman  on  earth  to  be  trusted." 

He  turned  his  back  upon  the  dancers,  and  went  out  into  the 
garden.  His  soul  was  wrung  with  jealousy,  yet  he  could  watch 
no  longer.  There  was  too  much  pain — there  were  too  many 
bitter  memories  of  shame,  and  loss,  and  ignominy  evoked  by 
that  infernal  picture.  If  he  had  been  free  he  would  have  as- 
serted his  authority  as  Lesbia's  future  husband ;  he  would  have 
taken  her  away  from  the  Orleans  ;  he  would  have  told  her  plainly 
and  frankly  that  Don  Gomez  was  no  fit  person  for  her  to  know, 
and  he  would  have  so  planned  that  they  two  should  never 
meet  again.  But  Mr.  Smithson  was  not  free.  He  was  bound 
hand  and  foot  by  those  fetters  which  the  chain  of  past  events 
had  forged — stern  facts  which  the  man  himself  may  forget,  or 
try  to  forget,  but  which  other  people  never  forget.  There  is 
generally  some  dark  spot  in  the  history  of  such  men  as  Smith- 
son — men  who  climb  the  giddiest  heights  of  this  world  with  that 
desperate  rapidity  which  implies  many  a  perilous  leap  from  crag 
to  crag,  many  a  moraine  skimmed  over  and  many  an  awful  gulf 
spanned  by  a  hair's-breadth  bridge.  Mr.  Smithson's  history  was 
not  without  such  spots,  and  the  darkest  of  all  had  relation  to  his 
career  in  Cuba.     The  story  had  been  known  by  very  few — per- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  321 

haps  completely  known  only  by  one  man,  and  that  man  was 
Gomez. 

For  the  last  ten  years  the  most  fervent  desire  of  Horace 
Smithson's  heart  had  been  the  hope  that  tropical  nature,  in  any 
one  of  her  various  disagreeable  forms,  would  be  obliging  enough 
to  make  an  end  of  Gomez.  But  the  forces  of  nature  had  not 
worked  on  Smithson's  side.  No  loathsome  leprosy  had  eaten 
his  enemy's  flesh;  neither  cayman  nor  crocodile,  juba  snake  or 
poisonous  spider  had  marked  him  for  its  prey ;  the  tropical  sun 
had  left  him  unsmitten.  He  had  lived  and  he  had  prospered, 
and  he  was  here,  like  a  guilty  conscience  incarnate,  to  spoil 
Horace  Smithson's  peace. 

"  I  must  be  diplomatic,"  Smithson  said  to  himself,  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  an  avenue  of  Irish  yews  in  a  solitary  part 
of  the  grounds,  smoking  his  cigarette,  and  hearing  the  music 
swell  and  sink  in  the  distance.  "  I  will  give  her  a  hint  as  to 
that  man's  character,  and  I  wilJ  keep  them  apart  as  much  as  I 
can  ;  but  if  he  forces  himself  upon  me  there  is  no  help  for  it.  I 
cannot  afford  to  be  uncivil  to  him." 

"  Cannot  afford "  in  this  instance  meant  "  dare  not,"  and 
Horace  Smithson's  thoughts  as  he  paced  the  yew-tree  walk  were 
full  of  gloom. 

During  that  long  meditation  he  made  up  his  mind  upon  one 
point — namely,  that  let  him  suffer  what  pangs  he  might,  he  must 
not  betray  his  jealousy.  To  do  that  would  be  to  lower  himself 
in  Lesbia's  eyes,  to  play  into  his  rival's  hand  ;  for  a  jealous  man 
is  almost  always  contemptible  in  the  sight  of  his  mistress.  He 
would  carry  himself  as  if  he  were  sure  of  her  fidelity,  and  this 
very  confidence  with  a  woman  of  honor,  a  girl  reared  as  Lesbia 
had  been  reared,  would  render  it  impossible  for  her  to  betray 
him.  He  would  show  himself  high  minded,  confident,  generous, 
chivalrous  even,  and  he  would  trust  to  chance  for  the  issue. 
Chance  was,  Mr.  Smithson's  only  idea  of  Divinity,  and  chance 
had  hitherto  been  kind  to  him.  There  had  been  dark  hours  in 
his  life,  but  the  darkness  had  not  lasted  long,  and  the  lucky  ac- 
cidents of  his  career  had  been  of  a  nature  to  beguile  him'  into 
the  belief  that  among  the  favorites  of  Destiny  he  stood  first  and 
foremost. 

While  Mr.  Smithson  mused  thus,  alone  and  in  the  darkness, 
Don  Gomez  and  Lady  Lesbia  were  wandering  arm-in-arm  in 
another  and  lovelier  part  of  the  grounds,  where  golden  lights 
were  scattered  like  Cuban  fire-flies  among  the  foliage  of  seringa 
and  magnolia,  arbutus  and  rhododendron,  while  at  intervals  a 
sudden  'flush  of  rosier  light  was  shed  over  garden  and  river,  as 


322 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


if  by  enchantment  surprising  a  couple  here  and  there  in  the 
midst  of  a  flirtation  which  had  begun  in  darkness. 

The  grounds  were  lovely  in  the  balmy  atmosphere  of  a  July 
nio-ht,  the  river  gliding  with  mysterious  motion  under  the  stars, 
great  masses  of  gloom  darkening  the  stream  with  an  almost 
awful  look  where  the  woods  of  Petersham  and  Ham  House  cast 
their  gigantic  shadows  on  the  water.  Don  Gomez  and  his  com- 
panion wandered  by  the  water  side  to  a  spot  where  a  group  of 
magnolias  sheltered  them  from  the  open  lawn,  and  where  there 
were  some  rustic  chairs  close  to  the  balustrade  which  protected 
the  parapet.  In  this  spot,  which  was  a  kind  of  island,  divided 
from  the  rest  of  the  grounds  by  the  intervening  road,  they  found 
themselves  quite  alone,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  summer  stillness, 
which  was  broken  only  by  the  low,  lazy  ripple  of  the  tide  running 
seaward.  The  lights  of  Richmond  looked  far  away,  and  the 
little  town,  with  its  variety  of  levels,  had  an  Italian  air  in  the 
distance. 

From  the  ball-room,  faint  and  fitful,  came  the  music  of  a  waltz. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  brought  you  too  far,"  said  Don  Gomez. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  relief  to  get  away  from  the  lights  and 
the  people.  How  delicious  this  river  is  !  I  was  brought  up  on 
the  shores  of  a  lake  ;  but,  after  all,  a  lake  is  horribly  tame.  Its 
limits  are  always  staring  one  in  the  face.  There  is  no  room  for 
one's  imagination  to  wander.  Now,  a  river  like  this  suggests 
an  infinity  of  possibilities,  drifting  on  and  on  and  on  into  undis- 
covered regions  by  ever  varying  shores.  I  feel  to-night  as  if  I 
should  like  to  step  into  that  little  boat  yonder,"  pomting  to  a 
light  skiff  bobbing  gently  up  and  down  with  the  tide  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  flight  of  steps,  "  and  let  the  stream  take  me  wherever 
it  chose." 

*'  If  I  could  but  go  with  you,"  said  Gomez,  in  that  deep  and 
musical  tone  which  made  the  commonest  words  seem  melody, 
"  I  would  ask  for  neither  compass  nor  rudder.  What  could  it 
matter  whither  the  boat  took  me  ?  There  is  no  place  under  the 
stars  which  would  not  be  paradise  with  you." 

"  Please  don't  make  a  dreamy  aspiration  the  occasion  of  a 
compliment,"  exclaimed  Lesbia,  lightly.  *'  What  I  said  was  so 
silly  that  I  don't  wonder  you  thought  it  right  to  say  somethmg 
just  a  little  sillier.  But  moonlight  and  running  water  have  a 
curious  effect  upon  me,  and  I,  who  am  the  most  matter-of-fact 
young  woman,  become  ridiculously  sentimental." 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  you  are  matter  of  fact." 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  perfectly  true.  I  am  of  the  earth, 
earthy ;  a  woman  of  the  world  in  my  first  season,  ambitious,  fond 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


323 


of  pleasure,  vain,  proud,  exacting,  all  those  things  which  I  am 
told  a  woman  ought  not  to  be." 

"You  pain  me  when  you  so  slander  yourself,  and  I  shall  make 
it  the  business  of  my  life  to  find  out  how  much  truth  there  is  in 
that  self-slander.  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of 
it ;  but  as  it  is  rude  to  contradict  a  lady  I  will  only  say  that  I 
reserve  my  opinion." 

"  Are  you  to  stay  long  in  England  this  time  ? "  asked  Lesbia. 

She  was  leaning  against  the  stone  balustrade  in  a  careless  at- 
titude, as  of  one  who  was  weary,  her  elbow  on  the  stone  slab, 
and  her  head  thrown  back  upon  her  hand  and  arm.  The  white 
satin  gown  molded  to  her  figure  had  a  statuesque  air,  and  she 
looked  like  a  marble  statue  in  the  dim  light,  every  line  of  the 
graceful  form  expressive  of  repose. 

"  That  will  depend.  I  am  not  particularly  fond  of  London. 
A  very  little  of  your  English  Babylon  satisfies  me  in  a  general 
way ;  but  there  are  conditions  which  might  make  England  en- 
chanting.    Where  do  you  go  at  the  end  of  the  season  ?  " 

"  First  to  Goodwood  and  then  to  Cowes.  Mr.  Smithson  is  so 
kind  as  to  place  his  yacht  at  Lady  Kirkbank's  disposal,  and  I 
am  to  be  her  guest  on  board  the  Cayman  just  as  I  am  in  Arling- 
ton Street." 

"  The  Cayman  !  That  name  is  a  reminiscence  of  Mr.  Smith- 
son's  South  American  travels." 

"  No  doubt.     Was  he  long  in  South  America .? " 

"  Three  or  four  years." 

"  But  not  in  Cuba  all  that  time,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No.  He  spent  only  a  year  or  so  in  Cuba.  But  I  dare  say 
he  has  told  you  all  his  adventures  in  that  part  of  the  world." 

"  No,  he  very  rarely  talks  about  his  travels.  And  I  have  never 
asked  him  any  questions.  There  is  always  so  much  to  think  of 
and  talk  about  in  the  business  of  the  moment.  Are  you  fond  of 
Cuba .? " 

"  Not  passionately.  I  always  feel  as  if  I  were  an  exile  there, 
and  yet  my  ancestors  were  with  Columbus  when  he  discovered 
the  island,  and  my  race  were  among  the  very  earliest  settlers. 
My  family  has  given  three  Captain-Generals  to  Cuba  ;  but  I  can- 
not forget  that  I  belong  to  an  older  world,  and  have  forfeited 
that  which  ought  to  have  been  a  brilliant  place  in  Europe  for 
the  luxurious  obscurity  of  a  colony." 

"  But  you  are  fond  of  your  island,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  like  the  stars  and  the  sea,  the  mountains  and  savannas, 
the  tropical  vegetation  and  the  dreamy  half-Oriental  life  ;  but  at 
best  it  is  a  kind  of  stagnation,  and  after  a  residence  of  a  few 


324  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

months  in  the  island  of  my  birth,  I  generally  spread  my  wings 
for  the  wider  world  of  the  old  continent  or  the  new." 

"  You  must  have  traveled  so  much,"  said  Lesbia,  with  a  sigh ; 
"  I  have  been  nowhere  and  seen  nothing.  I  feel  like  a  child 
who  has  been  shut  up  in  a  nursery  all  its  life  and  knows  of  no 
world  beyond  four  walls." 

"  Not  to  travel  is  not  to  live,"  said  Don  Gomez. 

''  I  am  CO  be  in  Italy  next  November,  I  believe,"  said  Lesbia, 
not  caring  to  own  that  this  Italian  trip  was  to  be  her  honeymoon. 

"  Italy  !  "  exclaimed  the  Spaniard,  contemptuously.  "  Once  the 
finishing  school  of  the  English  nobility ;  now  the  happy  hunting 
ground  of  the  Cockney  tourist.  All  the  poetry  of  Italy  has 
been  dried  up  and  the  whole  country  vulgarized.  If  you  want 
romance  m  the  old  world,  go  to  Spain  ;  in  the  new  world,  go  to 
Peru  or  Brazil." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  adventurous  enough  to  go  so  far." 

"  No ;  women  cling  to  beaten  tracks." 

"  We  obey  our  masters,"  answered  Lesbia,  meekly. 

"  Ah,  I  forgot.  You  are  to  have  a  master — and  soon.  I  heard 
as  much  before  I  saw  you  to-night." 

Lesbia  half  rose,  as  if  to  leave  this  cool  retreat  above  the  rip- 
pling tide. 

"  Yes,  it's  all  settled,"  she  said,  "  and  now  I  think  I  must  go 
back.  Lady  Kirkbank  will  be  wondering  what  has  become  of 
me." 

"  Let  her  wonder  a  little  longer,"  said  Don  Gomez.  "  Why 
should  we  hurry  away  from  this  delightful  spot?  Why  break 
the  spell  of — the  river  ?  Life  has  so  few  moments  of  perfect 
contentment.  If  this  is  one  with  you — as  it  is  with  me — let  us 
make  the  most  of  it.  Lady  Lesbia,  do  you  see  those  weeds  yon- 
der drifting  with  the  tide,  drifting  side  by  side,  touching  as  they 
drift.  They  have  met  heaven  knows  how,  and  will  part  heaven 
knows  where,  on  their  way  to  the  sea ;  but  they  let  themselves 
go  with  the  tide.  We  have  met  like  those  poor  weeds.  Don't 
let  us  part  till  the  tide  parts  us." 

Lesbia  gave  a  little  sigh  and  submitted.  She  had  talked  of 
women  obeying  their  masters,  and  the  implication  was  that  she 
meant  to  obey  Mr.  Smithson.  But  there  is  a  fate  in  these  things  ; 
and  the  man  who  was  to  be  her  master,  whose  lightest  breath 
was  to  sway  her,  whose  lightest  look  was  to  rule  her,  was  here 
at  her  side  in  the  silence  of  the  summer  night. 

They  talked  long  and  of  indifferent  subjects,  and  their  talk 
might  have  been  heard  by  every  member  of  the  Orleans  Club 
and  no  harm  done.     But  words  and  phrases  count  for  very  little 


PHANTOM  FORTUiYE.  325 

in  such  a  case  as  this.     It  is  the  tone,  it  is  the  melody  of  a  voice, 
it  is  the  magic  of  the  hour  that  tells. 

The  tide  came,  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Smithson,  and  parted 
these  two  weeds  that  were  drifting  toward  the  great  mysterious 
ocean  of  fate. 

"  I  have  been  hunting  for  you  everywhere,"  he  said,  cheerfully. 
"  If  you  want  another  waltz.  Lady  Lesbia,  you  had  better  take 
the  next.  I  believe  it  is  to  be  the  last,  or  at  any  rate  our  party 
are  clamoring  to  be  driven  home.  I  found  poor  Lady  Kirkbank 
fast  asleep  in  a  corner  of  the  drawing-room." 

"  Will  you  give  me  that  last  waltz  1 "  asked  Don  Gomez. 

Lady  Lesbia  felt  that  the  long-suffering  Smithson  had  en- 
dured enough.  Womanly  instinct  constrained  her  to  refuse  that 
final  waltz ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  making  a  terrible 
sacrifice  in  so  doing.  And  yet  she  had  waltzed  to  her  heart's 
content  during  the  season  that  was  waning,  and  knew  all  the 
waltzes  played  by  all  the  fashionable  bands.  She  gave  a  little 
sigh,  as  she  said : 

"  No,  I  must  not  indulge  myself.  I  must  go  and  take  care  of 
Lady  Kirkbank." 

Mr.  Smithson  offered  his  arm,  and  she  took  it  and  went  away 
with  him,  leaving  Don  Gomez  to  follow  at  his  leisure.  There 
would  be  some  delay,  no  doubt,  before  the  drag  started.  The 
lamps  had  gone  out  among  the  foliage,  and  the  stars  were  waning 
a  little,  and  there  was  a  faint  cold  light  creeping  over  the  garden 
which  meant  the  advent  of  morning.  Don  Gomez  strolled  slowly 
toward  the  lighted  house,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

"  She  is  very  lovely,  and  she  is — well — not  quite  spoiled  by 
her  entourage,  and  they  tell  me  she  is  an  heiress — sure  to  inherit 
a  fine  fortune  from  some  ancient  grandmother,  buried  alive  in 
Westmoreland,"  he  mused.  "  What  a  splendid  opportunity  it 
would  be,  if — if  the  business  could  be  arranged  on  the  square. 
But  as  it  is — well — as  it  is  there  is  the  chance  of  an  adventure, 
so  when  did  a  Montesma  ever  avoid  an  adventure,  although 
there  were  dagger  or  poison  lurking  in  the  background.  And 
here  there  is  neither  poison  nor  steel,  only  a  lovely  woman,  and 
an  infatuated  stockbroker,  about  whom  I  know  enough  to  hang 
an  archbishop.  Poor  Smithson,  how  very  unlucky  that  I  should 
happen  to  come  across  your  pathway  in  the  heydey  of  your  latest 
love  affair.  We  have  had  our  little  adventures  in  that  line  al- 
ready, and  we  have  measured  swords  together,  metaphorically, 
before  to-night.  When  it  comes  to  a  question  of  actual  swords 
my  Smithson  declines.     Pas  si  vite." 


326  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"lord  hartfield  refuses  a  fortune." 

A  HONEYMOON  among  lakes  and  mountains,  amidst  the  gor- 
geous confusion  of  Borrowdale,  in  a  little  world  of  wild,  strange 
loveliness,  shut  in  and  isolated  from  the  commonplace  outer 
world  by  the  vast  and  towering  masses  of  Skiddaw  and  Blen- 
cathara — a  world  of  one's  own,  as  it  were,  a  world  steejDed  in 
romance  and  poetry,  dear  to  the  souls  of  poets.  There  are  many 
such  honeymoons  every  Summer ;  indeed,  the  mountain  paths, 
the  waterfalls  and  lakes  swarm  with  happy  lovers  ;  and  this  land 
of  hills  and  waters  seems  to  have  been  made  expressly  for  hon- 
eymoon travelers ;  yet  never  went  truer  lovers  wandering  by 
lake  and  torrent,  by  hill  and  valley,  than  those  two  whose  brief 
honeymoon  was  now  drawing  to  a  close. 

It  was  altogether  a  magical  time  for  Mary,  this  dawn  of  a  new 
life.  The  immensity  of  her  happiness  almost  frightened  her. 
She  could  hardly  believe  in  it  or  trust  in  its  continuance. 

"  Am  I  really,  really,  really  your  wife  ?  "  she  asked  on  their 
last  day,  bending  down  to  speak  to  her  husband,  as  he  led  her 
pony  up  the  rough  ways  to  Skiddaw.  "  It  is  all  so  dreadfully 
like  a  dream."  ' 

"  Thank  God,  it  is  the  very  truth,"  answered  Lord  Hartfield, 
looking  fondly  at  the  fresh  young  face,  brightened  by  the  sum- 
mer wind,  which  faintly  stirred  the  auburn  hair  under  the  neat 
little  hat. 

"  And  am  I  actually  a  countess  ?  I  don't  care  about  it  one 
little  bit,  you  know,  except  as  a  stupendous  joke.  If  you  were 
to  tell  me  that  you  had  been  only  making  fun  of  poor  grand- 
mother and  me,  and  that  those  diamonds  are  glass,  and  you  only 
plain  John  Hammond,  it  wouldn't  make  the  faintest  difference. 
Indeed,  it  would  be  a  weight  off  my  mind.  It  is  an  awfully  op- 
pressive thing  to  be  a  countess." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  cannot  relieve  you  of  the  burden.  The  law  of 
the  land  has  made  you  Lady  Hartfield;  and  I  hope  you  are 
preparing  your  mind'for  the  duties  of  your  position." 

"  It  is  very  dreadful,"  sighed  Mary.  ''  If  her  Ladyship  were 
as  well  and  as  active  as  she  was  when  first  you  came  to  Fellside 
she  could  have  helped  me  ;  but  now  there  will  be  no  one  except 
you.     And  you  will  help  me,  won't  you,  Jack  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  My  own  true  Jack,"  with  a  little  fervent  squeeze  of  his  sun- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE  327 

burnt  hand.  "  In  society  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  call  you 
Hartfield.  * Hartfield,  please  ring  the  bell.'  'Give  me  a  foot- 
stool, Hartfield.'  How  odd  it  sounds.  I  shall  be  blurting  out 
the  old,  dear  name." 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  much  matter.  It  will  pass  for  one  of 
Lady  Hartfield's  little  ways.  Every  woman  is  supposed  to  have 
little  ways,  don't  you  know.  One  has  a  little  way  of  dropping 
her  friends,  another  a  little  way  of  not  paying  her  dressmaker, 
another's  little  way  is  to  take  too  much  champagne.  I  hope 
Lady  Hartfield's  little  way  will  be  her  devotion  to  her  hus- 
band." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall  end  by  being  a  nuisance  to  you,  for  I 
shall  love  you  ridiculously,"  answered  Mary,  gayly,  "  and  from 
what  you  have  told  me  about  society  it  seems  to  me  that  there 
can  be  nothing  so  unfashionable  as  an  affectionate  wife.  Will 
you  mind  my  being  quite  out  of  fashion,  Jack  ?  " 

"  I  should  very  much  object  to  your  being  in  the  fashion." 

"  Then  I  am  happy.  I  don't  think  it  is  in  my  nature  to  be- 
come a  woman  of  fashion ;  although  I  have  cured  myself,  for 
your  sake,  of  being  a  hoyden.  I  had  so  schooled  myself  for 
what  I  thought  our  new  life  was  to  be  ;  so  trained  myself  to  be 
a  managing,  economical  wife,  that  I  feel  quite  at  sea  now  that  I 
am  to  be  mistress  of  a  house  in  Grosvenor  Square  and  a  place 
in  Kent.  Still  I  will  bear  with  it  all ;  yes,  even  endure  the 
weight  of  those  diamonds,  for  your  sake." 

She  laughed  and  he  laughed.  They  were  quite  alone  among 
the  hills — hardy  mountaineers  both — and  they  could  be  as  fool- 
ish as  they  liked.  She  rested  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
he  and  she  and  the  pony  made  one  as  they  climbed  the  hill 
close  together. 

"  Our  last  day,"  sighed  Mary,  as  they  went  down  again  after 
a  couple  of  blissful  hours  in  that  wild  world  between  earth  and 
sky.  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  back  to  poor  grandmother,  who 
must  be  sadly  lonely ;  but  it  is  so  sweet  to  be  quite  alone  with 
you." 

They  left  the  Lodore  Hotel  in  an  open  carriage  after  lunch- 
eon next  day,  and  posted  to  Fellside,  where  they  arrived  just  in 
time  to  assist  at  Lady  Maulevrier's  afternoon  tea.  She  received 
them  both  with  warm  affection,  and  made  Hartfield  sit  close  be- 
side her  sofa  ;  and  every  now  and  then,  in  the  pauses  of  their 
talk,  she  laid  her  wasted  and  too  delicate  fingers  upon  the 
young  man's  strong  brown  hand  with  a  caressing  gesture. 

"  You  can  never  know  how  sweet  it  is  to  me  to  be  able  to 
love  you,"  she  said  tenderly.     "  You  can  never  know  how  my 


328  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

heart  yearned  to  you  from  the  very  first,  and  how  hard  it  was  to 
keep  myself  in  check  and  not  be  too  kind  to  you.  Oh,  Hartfield, 
you  should  have  told  me  the  truth.  You  should  not  have  come 
here  under  false  colors." 

"  Should  I  not,  Lady  Maulevrier  ?  It  was  my  only  chance  of 
being  loved  for  my  own  sake  ;  or  at  least  of  knowing  that  1 
was  so  loved.  If  I  had  come  with  my  rank  and  my  fortune  in 
my  hand,  as  it  were — one  of  the  good  matches  of  the  year — 
what  security  could  I  ever  have  felt  in  the  disinterested  love  of 
the  girl  who  chose  me  ?  As  plain  John  Hammond  I  wooed  and 
was  rejected ;  as  plain  John  Hammond  I  wooed  and  won  ;  and 
the  prize  which  I  so  won  is  a  pearl  above  price.  Not  for  worlds, 
were  the  last  year  to  be  lived  over  again,  would  I  have  one  day 
of  my  life  altered." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  satisfied.  I  wanted  you  for 
Lesbia,  and  I  have  got  you  for  Mary.  Best  of  all,  I  have  got 
you  for  myself.  Ronald  Hollister's  son  is  mine  ;  he  is  of  my 
kin  ;  he  belongs  to  me ;  he  will  not  forsake  me  in  life  ;  he  will 
be  near  to  me,  God  grant,  when  I  die." 

"  Dear  Lady  Maulevrier,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  will  be  to  you 
as  a  son,"  said  Lord  Hartfield,  very  solemnly,  bending  as  he 
spoke  to  kiss  her  hand. 

Mary  came  away  from  her  tea-table  to  embrace  her  grand- 
mother. 

"  It  makes  me  so  happy  to  have  won  a  little  of  your  love," 
she  murmured,  "  and  to  know  that  I  have  married  a  man  M'hom 
you  can  love." 

"  Of  course  you  have  heard  of  Lesbia's  engagement,"  Lady 
Maulevrier  said  presently  when  they  were  taking  their  tea. 

"  Maulevrier  wrote  to  us  about  it." 

"  To  us."  How  nice  it  sounded,  thought  Mary,  as  if  they 
were  a  hrm,  and  a  letter  written  to  one  was  written  to  both. 

"  And  do  you  know  this  Mr   Smithson  ?  " 

"  Not  intimately.     I  have  met  him  at  the  Carlton." 

"  I  am  cold  that  he  is  very  much  esteemed  by  your  party,  and 
that  he  is  likely  to  get  a  peerage  when  this  Ministry  goes  out  of 
office." 

"  That  is  not  improbable.  Peerages  are  to  be  had  if  a  man 
is  rich  enough,  and  Smithson  is  supposed  to  be  inordinately 
rich." 

"  I  hope  he  has  character  as  well  as  money,"  said  Lady 
Maulevrier  gravely,  "  But  do  you  think  a  man  can  become  in- 
ordinately rich  in  a  short  time  with  unblemished  honor?  " 

"  We  are  told  that  nothing  is  impossible,"  answered  Hartfield. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  329 

'■'■  A  camel  can  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  only  one  does 
not  often  see  it  done.  However,  I  believe  Mr.  Smithson's 
character  is  fairly  good,  as  millionaires  go.  We  do  not  inquire 
too  closelv  into  these  things  nowadays." 

Lady  Maulevrier  sighed  and  held  her  peace.  She  remem- 
bered the  day  when  she  had  protested  vehemently,  passionately, 
against  Lesbia's  marriage  with  a  poor  man.  And  now  she 
had  an  unhappy  feehng  about  Mr.  Smithson's  wealth,  a 
doubt,  a  dread  that  all  might  not  be  well  with  those  millions, 
that  some  portion  of  that  golden  tide  might  flow  from  impure 
sources.  She  had  lived  remote  from  the  world,  but  she  had 
read  the  papers  diligently,  and  she  knew  how  often  the  splen- 
dor of  commercial  wealth  has  been  suddenly  obscured  in  a 
black  cloud  of  obloquy.  She  could  not  rejoice  heartily  at  the 
idea  of  Lesbia's  engagement. 

"  I  am  to  see  the  man  early  in  August,"  she  said,  as  if  she 
was  talking  of  a  butler.  "  I  hope  I  may  like  him.  Lady  Kirk- 
bank  tells  me  it  is  a  brilliant  marriage,  and  I  can  only  take  her 
word.  What  can  I  do  for  my  granddaughter — a  useless  log — a 
prisoner  in  two  rooms  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  hard,"  murmured  Mary  tenderly,  "  but  I  do  not 
see  any  reason  v/hy  Lesbia  should  not  be  happy.  She  likes  a 
brilliant  life ;  and  Mr.  Smithson  can  give  her  as  much  gayety 
and  variety  as  she  can  possibly  desire.  And  after,  all  yachts, 
and  horses,  and  villas,  and  diamonds  are  nice  things." 

"  They  are  the  things  for  which  half  the  world  is  ready  to 
cheat  or  murder  the  other  half,"  said  Lady  Maulevrier  bitterly. 

She  had  told  herself  long  ago  that  wealth  was  power,  and  she 
had  sacrificed  many  things,  her  own  peace,  her  own  conscience 
among  them,  in  order  that  her  children  and  grandchildren 
should  be  rich ;  and,  knowing  this,  she  felt  that  it  ill  became 
her  to  be  scrupulous  and  to  inquire  too  closely  as  to  the  sources 
of  Mr.  Smithson's  wealth.  He  was  rich,  and  the  world  had  no 
fault  to  find  with  him.  He  had  attended  the  last  levee.  He 
went  into  reputable  society,  and  he  could  give  Lesbia  all  those 
things  which  the  world  calls  good. 

Fraulein  Kirsch  had  packed  her  heavy  old  German  trunks, 
and  had  gone  back  to  the  Heimath  laden  with  presents  of  all 
kinds  from  Lady  Maulevrier,  so  Mary  and  her  husband  felt  as 
if  Fellside  were  really  their  own.  They  dined  with  her  Lady- 
ship and  left  her  for  the  night  an  hour  after  dinner,  and  then 
they  went  down  to  the  gardens  and  roamed  about  in  the  twilight, 
and  talked  and  talked  and  talked,  as  only  true  loveis  can  talk, 
be  they  Stephen  and  Daphne  in  life's  glad  morning,  or  gray- 


330  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

haired  Darby  and  Joan,  and  lastly  they  went  down  to  the  lake 
and  rowed  about  in  the  moonlight,  and  talked  of  King  Arthur's 
death,  and  of  that  mystic  sword,  Excalibur,  "  wrought  by  the 
lonely  maiden  of  the  lake." 

They  spent  three  happy  days  in  wandering  about  the  neigh- 
borhood, revisiting  in  the  delicious  freedom  of  their  wedded 
life  those  spots  which  they  had  seen  together  when  Mary  was 
still  in  bondage  and  the  eye  of  propriety,  as  represented  by 
Miss  Kirsch,  was  always  upon  her.  Now  they  were  free  to  go 
where  they  pleased — to  linger  where  they  liked — they  belonged 
to  each  other  and  were  under  no  other  dominion. 

The  dog-cart — James  Steadman's  dog-cart — which  he  had 
raiely  used  during  the  last  six  months,  was  put  in  requisition, 
and  Lord  Hartfield  drove  his  wife  about  the  country.  They 
went  to  the  Langdale  Pikes  and  to  Dungeon  Ghyll,  and,  stand- 
ing beside  the  waterfall,  Mary  told  her  husband  how  miserable 
she  had  felt  on  that  very  spot  a  little  less  than  a  year  ago,  when 
she  believed  that  he  thought  her  plain  and  altogether  horrid. 
Whereupon  he  had  to  console  her  with  many  kisses  and  sweet 
words  for  the  bygone  pain  on  her  part,  the  past  neglect  on  his. 

"  I  was  a  wretch,"  he  said,  "  blind,  besotted,  imbecile." 

"  No,  no,  no.  Lesbia  is  very  lovely,  and  I  could  not  expect 
you  would  care  for  me  till  she  was  gone  away.  How  glad  I  am 
that  she  went,"  added  Mary  naively.  ^ 

The  sky,  which  had  been  cloudless  all  day,  began  to  darken 
as  Lord  Hartfield  drove  back  to  Fellside,  and  Mary  drew  a  little 
closer  to  the  driver's  elbow,  as  if  for  shelter  from  an  impending 
tempest. 

"  You  have  your  waterproof,  of  course,"  he  said,  looking  down 
at  her,  as  the  first  big  drops  of  a  thunder-shower  dashed  upon 
the  splash-board.  "  No  ycung  woman  in  the  Lake  country 
would  think  of  being  without  a  waterproof." 

Mary  was  duly  provided,  and  with  the  help  of  the  groom  put 
herself  into  a  snug  little  tartan  Inverness,  while  Hartfield  sent 
the  cart  spinning  along  twelve  miles  an  hour. 

They  were  at  Fellside  before  the  storm  developed  its  full 
power,  but  the  sky  was  leaden,  the  landscape  dull  and  blotted, 
the  atmosphere  heavy  and  stifling.  The  thunder  grumbled 
hoarsely  far  away  yonder  in  the  wdld  gorges  of  Barrowdale,  and 
Mary  and  her  husband  made  up  their  minds  that  the  tempest 
would  come  before  midnight. 

Lady  Maulevrier  was  suffering  from  the  condition  of  the  at- 
mosphere. She  had  gone  to  bed,  prostrate  with  a  neuralgic 
headache,  and  had  given  orders  that  no  one  but  her  maid  should 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  331 

go  near  her.  So  Lord  Ilartfield  and  his  wife  dined  by  them- 
selves, in  the  room  where  Mary  had  eaten  so  many  uninterest- 
ing dinners  tete-a-tete  with  Fraulein ;  and  in  spite  of  the  storm 
which  howled,  pelted,  and  lightened  every  now  and  then,  Mary 
felt  as  if  she  were  in  Paradise. 

There  was  no  chance  of  going  out  after  dinner,  the  lake 
looked  like  a  pool  of  ink,  the  mountains  were  monsters  of  dark 
and  threatening  aspect,  the  rain  rattled  against  the  windows,  and 
ran  from  the  veranda  in  miniature  waterspouts.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  stay  indoors,  in  the  sultry,  dusky  house. 

*'  Let  us  go  to  my  boudoir,"  said  Mary.  "  Let  me  enjoy  the 
full  privilege  of  having  a  boudoir — my  very  own  room.  Wasn't 
it  too  good  of  grandmother  to  have  it  made  so  smart  for  me." 

"  Nothing  can  be  too  good  for  my  Mary,"  answered  her  hus- 
band, still  in  the  doting  stage,  "but  it  was  very  nice  of  her 
Ladyship — and  the  room  is  charming." 

Delightful  as  the  new  boudoir  might  be,  they  dawdled  in  the 
picture  gallery,  that  long  corridor  on  which  all  the  upper  rooms 
opened,  and  at  one  end  of  which  was  the  door  to  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  bed-room,  at  right  angles  with  that  red-cloth  door  which 
was  never  opened  except  to  give  egress  or  ingress  to  James 
Steadman,  who  kept  the  key  of  it,  as  if  the  old  part  of  Fellside 
House  had  been  an  enchanted  castle.  Lord  Hartfield  had  not 
forgotten  that  summer  midnight  last  year,  when  his  meditations 
were  disturbed  by  a  woman's  piercing  cry.  He  thought  of  it 
this  evening  as  Mary  and  he  lowered  their  voices  on  drawing 
near  Lady  Maulevrier's  door.  She  was  asleep  within  there  now, 
perhaps,  that  strange  old  woman ;  and  at  any  moment  that  aw- 
ful shriek,  as  of  a  soul  in  mortal  agony,  might  startle  them  in 
the  midst  of  their  bliss. 

The  lamps  were  lighted  below,  but  this  upper  part  of  the 
house  was  wrapped  in  the  dull  gray  twilight  of  a  stormy  evening. 
A  single  lamp  burned  dimly  at  the  further  end  of  the  corridor, 
and  all  the  rest  was  shadow. 

Mary  and  her  husband  walked  up  and  down,  talking  in  sub- 
dued tones.  He  was  explaining  the  necessity  of  his  being  in 
London  next  week,  and  promising  to  come  back  to  Fellside 
directly  his  business  at  the  House  was  over. 

"  It  will  be  delightful  to  read  your  speeches,"  said  Mary,  "but 
I  am  silly  and  selfish  enough  to  wish  you  were  a  county  squire 
with  no  business  in  London.  And  yet  I  don't  wish  that  either, 
for  I  am  intensely  proud  of  you." 

"And  some  day,  befoie  we  are  much  older,  you  will  sit  in 
your  robes  in  the  peeress's  gallery." 


332  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't,"  cried  Mary.  "  I  should  make  a  fool  of  my- 
self, somehow.  I  should  look  like  a  housemaid  in  borrowed 
plumes.  Remember,  I  have  no  Anstand — I  have  been  told  so' 
all  my  life." 

"  You  will  be  one  of  the  prettiest  peeresses  who  ever  sat  in 
that  gallery,  and  the  purest,  and  truest,  and  dearest,"  pro- 
tested her  lover  husband. 

"  Oh,  if  I  am  good  enough  for  you,  I  am  satisfied.  I  married 
you,  and  not  the  House  of  Lords.  But  I'm  afraid  your  friends 
will  all  say :  '  Hartfield,  why  in  heaven's  name  did  you  marry 
that  dreadful  person  ? '     Look  !  " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  with  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm. 
It  was  growing  momentarily  darker  in  the  corridor.  They  were 
at  the  end  near  the  lamp,  and  that  other  end  by  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's-door  was  in  deeper  darkness,  yet  not  too  dark  for  Lord 
Hartfield  to  see  what  it  was  to  which  Mary  pointed. 

The  red-cloth  door  was  open,  and  a  faint  glimmer  of  light 
showed  within.  A  man  was  standing  in  the  corridor,  a  small 
shrunken  figure,  bent  and  old. 

"  It  is  Steadman's  uncle,"  said  Mary.  "  Do  let  us  go  and 
speak  to  him,  poor,  poor,  old  man." 

"  The  madman  !  "  exclaimed  Hartfield.  "  No,  Mar)^,  go  to 
your  room  at  once.     I'll  get  him  back  to  his  own  den." 

"  But  he  is  not  mad — at  any  rate,  he  is  quite  harmless.  Let 
me  say  a  few  words  to  him.     Surely  I  am  safe  with  you." 

Lord  Hartfield  was  not  inclined  to  dispute  that  argument ;  in- 
deed, he  felt  himself  strong  enough  to  protect  his  wife  from  all 
the  lunatics  in  Bedlam.  He  went  toward  the  end  of  the  cor^ 
ridor,  keeping  Mary  well  behind  him ;  but  Mary  did  not  mean 
to  lose  the  opportunity  of  renewing  her  acquaintance  with  Stead- 
man's  uncle. 

"  I  hope  you  are  better,  poor  old  soul,"  she  murmured  gently, 
lovingly  alrnost,  nestling  at  her  husband's  side. 

"  What,  is  it  you  ?  "  cried  the  old  man,  tremulous  with  joy. 
"  Oh,  I  have  been  looking  for  you — looking — looking — waiting, 
waiting  for  you.  I  have  been  hoping  for  you  every  hour  and 
every  minute.     Why  didn't  you  come  to  me,  cruel  girl  ?  " 

"  I  tried  with  all  my  might,"  said  Mary,  "but  people  blocked 
up  the  door  in  the  stables  and  they  wouldn't  let  me  go  to  you  ; 
and  I  have  been  rather  busy  for  the  last  fortnight,"  added  Mary, 
blushing  in  the  darkness,  "I  have  been  married  to  this  gentle- 
man." 

"  Married !  Ah,  that  is  a  good  thing.  He  will  take  care  ot 
you  if  he  is  an  honest  man." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  zzZ 

''  I  thought  he  was  an  honest  man,  but  he  has  turned  out  to 
be  an  earl,"  answered  Mary,  proudly.  "  My  husband  is  Lord 
Hartfield." 

"  Hartfield — Hartfield,"  the  old  man  repeated  feebly.  "  Surely 
I  have  heard  that  name  before." 

There  was  no  violence  in  his  manner,  nothing  but  imbecility, 
so  Lord  Hartfield  made  up  his  mind  that  Mary  was  right,  and 
that  the  poor  old  man  was  quite  harmless,  worthy  of  all  com- 
passion and  kindly  treatment. 

This  was  the  same  old  man  whom  he  had  met  on  the  Fell  in 
the  bleak  March  morning;  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind 
about  that,  although  he  could  hardly  see  his  face  in  the  shadowy 
corridor. 

"  Come,"  said  the  man,  "  come  with  me,  my  dear,  and  I'll 
show  you  your  legacy.  It  is  all  for  you  ;  all,  every  rupee — every 
jewel." 

This  word  rupee  startled  Lord  Hartfield.  It  had  a  strange 
sound  from  the  lips  of  a  Westmoreland  peasant. 

"  Come,  child,  come  !  "  said  the  man  impatiently.  "  Come 
and  see  v/hat  I  have  left  you  in  my  will.  I  make  a  new  will 
every  day,  but  I  leave  everything  to  you — everything  is  in  your 
favor.  But  if  you  are  married  you  had  better  have  your  legacy 
at  once.  Your  husband  is  strong  enough  to  take  care  of  you 
and  your  fortune." 

"  Poor  old  man,"  whispered  Mary,  "  pray  let  us  humor  him." 

It  was  the  usual  madman's  fancy,  no  doubt,  boundless  wealth, 
exalted  rank,  sanctity,  power.  These  things  all  belong  to  the 
lunatic.  He  is  the  lord  of  creation,  and,  fed  by  such  fancies, 
there  are  flashes  of  wild  happiness  in  the  midst  of  his  woe. 

"  Come,  come,  both  of  you,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly,  breath- 
less with  impatience. 

He  led  the  way  across  the  sacred  threshold,  looking  back, 
beckoning  to  them  with  his  wasted  old  hand,  and  Mary  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  entered  that  house  which  had  seemed  to  her 
from  her  very  childhood  as  a  temple  of  silence  and  mystery. 
The  passage  was  dimly  lighted  by  a  little  lamp  on  a  bracket. 
The  old  man  crept  along  stealthily,  looking  back  with  a  face  full 
of  cunning,  till  he  came  to  a  broad  landing,  from  which  an  old 
staircase  with  massive  oak  banisters  led  down  to  the  square 
hall  below.  The  ceilings  were  low,  the  passages  were  narrow. 
All  things  in  the  house  were  curiously  different  from  that  spa- 
cious mansion  which  Lady  Maulevrier  had  built  for  herself.  _ 

A  door  on  the  landing  stood  ajar.  The  old  man  pushed  it 
open  and  went  in,  followed  by  Mary  and  her  husband. 


334  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

They  both  expected  to  see  a  room  humble  almost  to  poverty 
— an  iron  bedstead,  perhaps,  and  such  furniture  as  the  under 
servants  in  a  nobleman's  household  are  privileged  to  enjoy. 
Both  were  alike  surprised  at  the  luxury  of  the  apartment  they 
entered,  and  which  was  evidently  reserved  exclusively  for  Stead- 
man's  uncle. 

It  was  a  sitting-room.  The  furniture  was  old-fashioned,  but 
almost  as  handsome  as  any  in  Lady  Maulevrier's  apartments. 
There  was  a  large  sofa  of  most  comfortable  shape  covered  with 
dark  red  velvet,  and  furnished  with  pillows  and  foot-rugs  which 
would  have  satisfied  a  Sybarite  of  the  first  water.  Beside  the 
sofa  stood  a  hookah,  with  all  appliances  in  the  Oriental  fashion  ; 
and  half  a  dozen  long  cherry-wood  pipes  neatly  arranged  above 
the  mantel-piece  showed  that  Mr.  Steadman's  uncle  was  a 
smoker  of  a  luxurious  type. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  stood  a  large  writing  table,  with^  a 
case  of  pigeon  holes  at  the  back,  which  would  not  have  dis- 
graced a  Prime  Minister's  study.  A  pair  of  wax  candles  in  tall 
silver  candlesticks  lighted  this  table,  which  was  littered  with 
papers  in  wild  confusion,  that  too  plainly  told  of  the  condition 
of  the  owner's  mind.  The  oak  floor  was  covered  with  Persian 
prayer-rugs,  old  and  faded,  but  of  the  lichest  quality.  The  win- 
dow curtams  were  dark  red  velvet ;  and  through  an  open  door- 
way Mary  and  her  husband  saw  a  corresponding  luxury  in  the 
arrangements  of  the  adjoining  bed-room. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  wild  and  strange  as  a  fairy  tale. 
The  weird  and  wizened  old  man  grinning  and  nodding  his 
head  at  them.  The  handsome  room,  rich  with  dark  subdued 
color  in  the  dim  light  of  four  wax  candles,  two  on  the  table,  two 
on  the  mantel-piece.  The  perfume  of  stephanotis  and  tea  roses 
blended  faintly  with  the  all-pervading  smell  of  latakia  and  Turk- 
ish attar,  All  was  alike  strange,  bearing  in  mind  that  this  old 
man  was  a  recipient  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  charity,  a  hanger-on 
upon  a  confidential  servant,  who  might  be  supposed  to  be  gen- 
erously treated  if  he  had  the  run  of  his  teeth  and  a  shelter  of 
a  decent  garret.  Verily,  there  was  something  regal  in  such 
hospit'dity  as  this  accorded  to  a  pauper  lunatic. 

Where  was  Steadman^  the  alert,  the  watchful,  all  this  time  ? 
Mary  \vondered.  They  had  met  no  one.  The  house  was  as 
mute  as  if  it  were  under  the  spell  of  a  magician.  It  was  like 
that  awful  chamber  in  the  Arabian  story,  where  the  young  man 
found  the  necromantic  horse,  and  started  on  his  fatal  journey. 
Mary  felt  as  if  here,  too,  there  must  be  peril ;  here,  too,  fa<-e  was 
vvorkinc:. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 


335 


The  old  man  went  to  the  writing  table,  pushed  aside  the  pa- 
pers, and  then  stooped  down  and  turned  a  mysterious  handle  or 
winch  under  the  knee  hole,  and  the  writing  desk  moved  slowly 
on  one  side,  while  the  pigeon  holes  sank,  and  a  deep  well 
full  of  secret  drawers  was  laid  open. 

From  one  of  these  secret  drawers  the  old  man  took  a  bunch 
of  keys,  nodding,  chuckling,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  groped 
for  them  with  tremulous  hand. 

"  Steadman  is  uncommonly  clever — thinks  he  knows  every- 
thing— but  he  doesn't  know  the  trick  of  this  table.  I  could 
hide  a  regiment  of  Sepoys  in  this  table,  my  dear.  Well,  well, 
perhaps  not  Sepoys — too  big,  too  big — but  I  could  hide  all  the 
State  papers  of  the  Presidency.  There  are  drawers  enough 
for  that." 

Hartfield  watched  him  intently,  with  thoughtful  brow.  There 
was  a  mystery  here,  a  mystery  of  the  deepest,  and  it  was  for  him 
— it  must  needs  be  his  task,  welcome  or  unwelcome,  to  unravel 
it. 

This  was  the  Maulevrier  skeleton. 

"  Now,  come  with  me,"  said  the  old  man,  clutching  Mary's 
wrist,  and  drawing  her  toward  the  half  open  door  leading  into 
the  bed-room. 

She  had  a  feeling  of  shrinking,  for  there  was  something  un- 
canny about  the  old  man,  something  that  might  be  life  or  death, 
might  belong  to  this  world  or  the  next,  but  she  had  no  fear.  In 
the  first  place,  she  was  courageous  by  nature,  and,  in  the  second, 
her  husband  was  with  her,  a  tower  of  strength,  and  she  could 
know  no  fear  while  he  was  at  her  side. 

The  strange  old  man  led  the  way  across  his  bed-room  to  an 
inner  chamber,  oak  paneled,  with  very  little  furniture,  but  hold- 
ing much  treasure  in  the  shape  of  trunks,  portmanteaux — all 
very  old  and  dusty — and  two  large  wooden  cases. 

Before  one  of  these  cases  the  man  knelt  down  and  applied  a 
key  to  the  padlock  which  fastened  it.  He  gave  the  candle  to 
Lord  Hartfield  to  hold,  and  then  opened  the  box.  It  seemed 
to  be  full  of  books,  which  he  began  to  remove,  heaping  them  on 
the  floor  beside  him  ;  and  it  was  not  till  he  had  cleared  away  a 
layer  of  ponderous  volumes  that  he  came  to  a  large  metal  strong- 
box, so  heavy  that  he  could  not  lift  it  out  of  the  chest. 

Slowly,  tremulously,  and  with  quickened  breathing,  he  un- 
locked the  box  where  it  was,  and  lifted  the  lid. 

"  Look,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  this  is  her  legacy — this  is  my 
Httle  girl's  legacy." 

Lord  Hartfield  bent  down  and  looked  at  the  old  man's  treas- 


336  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

ure  by  the  wavering  light  of  the  candle;  Mary  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  breathless  with  wonder. 

The  strong  box  was  divided  into  compartments.  One,  and 
the  largest,  was  filled  with  rouleaux  of  coin,  packed  as  closely 
as  possible.  The  others  contained  jewels,  set  and  unset — 
diamonds,  emeralds,  rubies,  sapphires — which  flashed  back  the 
flickering  flame  of  the  candle  with  glintings  of  rainbow 
light. 

"  These  are  all  for  her — all — all,"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  They  are  worth  a  prince's  ransom.  Those  rouleaux  are  all 
gold ;  those  gems  are  priceless.  They  were  the  dowry  of  a  prin- 
cess. But  they  are  hers  now — yes,  my  dear,  they  are  yours — 
because  you  spoke  sweetly  and  smiled  prettily  and  was  very 
good  to  a  lonely  old  man — and  because  you  have  my  mother's 
face,  dear,  a  smile  that  recalls  the  days  of  my  youth.  Lift  out 
the  box  and  take  it  away  with  you  if  you  are  strong  enough,  you, 
you,"  he  said,  touching  Lord  Hartfield.  "  Hide  it  somewhere 
— keep  it  from  her.  Let  no  one  know — no  one  except  your 
wife  and  you  must  be  in  the  secret." 

"  My  dear  sir,  it  is  out  of  the  question — impossible  that  my 
wife  or  I  should  accept  one  of  those  coins  or  the  smallest  of 
those  jewels." 

"  Why  not,  in  heaven's  name  ?  " 

"  First  and  foremost,  we  do  not  know  how  you  came  in  pos- 
session of  them  ;  secondly,  we  do  not  know  who  you  are." 

"  They  came  to  me  fairly  enough — bequeathed  to  me  by  one 
who  had  the  right  to  leave  them.  Would  you  have  had  all  that 
gold  left  for  an  adventurer  to  wallow  in  1 " 

"  You  must  keep  your  treasure,  sir,  however  it  may  have  come 
to  you,"  answered  Lord  Hartfield  firmly.  "  My  wife  cannot 
take  upon  herself  the  burden  of  a  single  gold  coin — least  of  all 
from  a  stranger.  Remember,  sir,  to  us  your  possession  of  this 
wealth,  nay  your  whole  existence,  is  a  mystery," 

"  You  want  to  know  who  I  am  t  "  said  the  old  man,  drawing 
himself  up  with  a  sudden  hauteur  which  was  not  without  dig- 
nity, despite  his  shrunken  form  and  grotesque  appearance. 
"  Well,  sir,  I  am—" 

He  checked  himself  abruptly,  and  looked  round  the  room 
with  a  scared  expression. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  he  muttered  ;  "  caution,  caution  !  They  have 
not  done  with  me  yet — she  v/arned  me — they  are  lying  in  wait — 
I  mustn't  walk  into  their  trap."  And  then,  turning  to  Lord  Hart- 
field, he  said  haughtily,  "  I  shall  not  condescend  to  tell  you  who 
I  am,  sir.     You  must  know  that  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  that  is 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  337 

enough  for  you.  There  is  my  gift  to  your  wife," — pointing  to 
the  chest — "  take  it  or  leave  it." 

"  I  shall  leave  it,  sir,  with  all  due  respect." 

A  frightful  change  came  over  the  old  man's  face  at  this  deter- 
mined refusal.  His  eyes  glowed  at  Lord  Hartfield  under  the 
heavy  scowling  brows  ;  his  bloodless  lips  worked  convulsively. 

"Do  you  take  me  for  a  thief?"  he  exclaimed,  "Are  you 
afraid  to  touch  my  gold — that  gold  for  which  men  and  women 
sell  their  souls,  blast  their  lives  with  shame  and  pain  and  dis- 
honor, all  the  world  over  ?  Do  you  stand  aloof  from  it — refuse 
to  touch  it,  as  if  it  were  infected  ?  And  you,  too,  girl,  have  you 
no  sense  ?     Are  you  an  idiot  ?  " 

"  I  can  do  nothing  against  my  husband's  wish,"  Mary  answered 
quietly;  "and,  indeed,  there  is  no  need  for  us  to  take  your 
money.  We  are  rich  without  it.  Please  leave  that  chest  to  a 
hospital     It  will  be  ever  so  much  better  than  giving  it  to  us." 

"  You  told  me  you  were  going  to  marry  a  poor  man  ?  " 

"  I  know.  But  he  cheated  me  and  turned  out  to  be  a  rich 
man.  He  was  a  horrid  impostor,"  said  Mary,  drawing  closer 
to  her  husband  and  smiling  up  at  him. 

The  old  man  flung  down  the  iron  lid  of  his  strong  box,  which 
shut  with  a  sonorous  clang.  He  locked  it  and  put  the  key  in 
his  pocket. 

''  I  have  done  v/ith  you,"  he  said.  "  You  can  go  your  ways, 
both  of  you.  Fool,  fools,  fools.  The  world  is  peopled  with 
rogues  and  fools;  and,  by  heaven,  I  would  rather  have  to  do 
with  the  rogues." 

He  flung  himself  into  an  arm-chair,  one  of  the  few  objects  of 
furniture  in  the  room,  and  left  them  to  fmd  their  way  back 
alone, 

"  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Lord  Hartfield,  but  the  old  man  made 
no  reply.     He  sat  frowning  sullenly. 

''  Good-night,  sir,"  said  Mary,  in  her  gentle  voice,  breathing 
infinite  pity. 

"  Good-night,  child,"  he  growled.  ""  I  am  sorry  you  have 
married  an  ass." 

This  was  more  than  Mary  could  stand,  and  she  was  about  to 
reply  with  some  acrimony,  when  her  husband  put  his  hand  upon 
her  lips  and  hurried  her  away. 

On  the  landing  they  met  Mrs.  Steadman,  a  stout,  common- 
place person,  who  always  had  the  same  half-frightened  look,  as 
of  one  who  lived  in  the  shadow  of  an  abiding  terror,  obviously 
cowed  and  brow-beaten  by  her  husband,  according  to  the  Fell- 
side  household. 


338  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

At  sight  of  Lord  Hartfield  and  his  wife  she  looked  a  little 
more  frightened  than  usual. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  Lady  Mary,  how  ever  did  you  come 
here  ? "  she  gasped,  not  yet  having  quite  reaUzed  the  fact  that 
Mary  had  been  promoted. 

"We  came  to  please  Steadman's  uncle — he  brought  us  in 
here,"  Mary  answered  quietly. 

"  But  where  did  you  find  him  ? " 

"In  the  corridor — just  by  her  Ladyship's  room." 

"  Then  he  must  have  taken  the  key  out  of  Steadman's  pocket, 
or  Steadman  must  have  left  it  about  somewhere,"  muttered 
Mrs.  Steadman,  as  if  explaining  the  matter  to  herself  rather 
than  to  Mary.  "  My  poor  husband  is  not  the  man  he  was. 
And  so  you  met  him  in  the  corridor,  and  he  brought  you  in  here. 
Poor  old  gentleman  !     He  gets  madder  and  madder  every  day." 

"  There  is  method  in  his  madness,"  sai-d  Lord  Hartfield. 
"  He  talked  very  much  like  sanity  just  now.  Has  your  hus- 
band had  the  charge  of  him  long  ?  " 

Mrs.  Steadman  answered  somewhat  confusedly,  "Agoodish 
time,  sir,  I  can't  quite  exactly  say — time  passes  so  quiet  in  a 
place  like  this,  one  hardly  keeps  count  of  the  years." 

"  Forty  years,  perhaps  ?  " 

Mrs.  Steadman  blenched  under  Lord  Hartfield's  steadfast 
look — a  look  which  questioned  more  searchingly  than  his 
words. 

"  Forty  years,"  she  repeated,  Math  a  faint  laugh.  "  Oh,  dear, 
no,  sir,  not  a  quarter  so  long.  It  isn't  so  many  years,  after  all, 
since  Steadman's  poor  old  uncle  went  a  little  queer  in  his  head, 
and  Steadman  having  such  a  quiet  home  here,  and  plenty  of 
spare  room,  made  bold  to  ask  her  Ladyship  if  he  might  give  the 
poor  old  man  a  home,  wheie  he  would  be  in  nobody's  way." 

"  And  the  poor  old  man  seems  to  have  a  very  luxurious  home," 
ans\vered  Lord  Hartfield.  "Pray  when  and  where  did  Mr. 
Steadman's  uncle  learn  to  smoke  a  hookah  ?  " 

Simple  as  the  question  was  it  proved  too  much  for  Mrs. 
Steadman.  She  only  shook  her  head  and  faltered  some  unin- 
telligible reply. 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  "  asked  Lord  Hartfield.  "  I  should 
like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  him  if  he  is  disengaged." 

"He  is  not  very  well,  my  Lord,"  answered  Mrs.  Steadman, 
with  a  deprecating  air.  "  He  has  been  ailing  off  and  on  for 
the  last  six  months,  but  I  couldn't  get  him  to  see  the  doctor  or 
to  tell  her  Ladyship  that  he  was  in  bad  health.  And  about  a 
week   ago  he  broke  down  altogether,  and  fell  into   a  kind  of 


PHA/VTOM  FORTUNE.  339 

drowsy  state.  He  keeps  about,  and  he  does  his  work  pretty 
much  the  same  as  usual,  but  I  can  see  that  it's  too  much  for 
him.  If  you  like  to  come  downstairs  I  can  let  you  through  the 
door  into  the  hall — and  if  he  should  have  woke  up  since  I  have 
left  him  he'll  be  at  your  Lordship's  service.  But  I'd  rather  not 
wake  him  out  of  his  sleep." 

"  There  is  no  occasion.  What  I  have  to  say  will  keep  till 
to-morrow." 

Lord  Hartfield  and  his  wife  followed  Mrs.  Steadman  down- 
stairs to  the  low  dark  hall,  where  an  old  eight-day  clock  ticked 
with  hoarse  and  solemn  beat  and  a  fine  stag's  head  over  each 
doorway  gave  evidence  of  some  former  Haselden's  sporting 
tastes.  The  door  of  a  small  paneled  parlor  stood  half-way  open, 
and  within  the  room  Lord  Hartfield  saw  James  Steadman  asleep 
in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  which  burned  as  brightly  as  if  it  had 
been  Christmas  time. 

"  He  was  so  cold  and  chilly  this  afternoon  that  I  was  obliged 
to  light  a  fire,"  said  Mrs.  Steadman. 

"  He  seems  to  be  sleeping  heavily,"  said  Hartfield.  "  Don't 
awaken  him.  I'll  see  him  to-morrow  morning  before  I  go  to 
London." 

"  He  sleeps  half  the  day  just  as  heavy  as  that,  my  Lord,"  said 
the  wife,  with  a  troubled  air.     "  I  don't  think  it  can  be  right." 

"  I  don't  think  so  either,  "  answered  Lord  Hartfield.  "You 
had  better  call  in  the  doctor." 

"  I  will,  my  Lord,  to-morrow  morning.  James  will  be  angry 
with  me,  I  dare  say ;  but  I  must  take  upon  myself  to  do  it  with- 
out his  leave." 

She  led  the  way  along  a  passage  corresponding  with  the  one 
above,  and  unlocked  a  door  opening  into  a  lobby  near  the  bill- 
iard room  in  the  new  house. 

"  Come,  Molly,  see  if  you  can  beat  me  at  a  fifty  game,"  said 
Lord  Hartfield,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  wants  to  shake  off 
the  oppression  of  some  dominant  idea. 

"  Of  course  you  will  annihilate  me,  but  it  will  be  a  relief  to 
play,"  answered  Mary.  "  That  strange  old  man  has  given  me 
a  shock.  Everything  about  his  surroundings  is  so  different 
from  what  I  expected.  And  how  could  an  uncle  of  Steadman's 
come  by  all  that  money — and  those  jewels — if  they  were  jewels, 
and  not  bits  of  glass  which  the  poor  old  thing  has  chopped  up, 
in  order  to  delude  himself  with  an  imaginary  treasure .?  " 
"  I  do  not  think  they  are  bits  of  glass,  Molly." 
"  They  sparkled  tremendously — almost  as  much  as  my — our 
— the    family  diamonds,  "  said  ^ary,  puzzled  how  to   describe 


340  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

that  property  which  she  held  in  right  of  her  position  as  count- 
ess regnant,  "  but  if  they  are  real  jewels,  and  all  those  rouleaux 
real  money,  how  could  Steadman's  uncle  become  possessed  of 
such  wealth  ?  " 

"  How,  indeed,"  said  Lord  Hartfield,  choosing  his  cue. 


CHAPTER  XXXVin. 

ON     BOARD    THE    CAYMAN. 

Goodwood  had  come  and  gone,  a  brief,  bright  season  of  loss 
and  gain,  fine  gowns,  flirtation,  lobster  en  mayonaise,  champagne, 
sunshine,  dust,  glare,  babble  of  many  voices,  successes,  failures, 
triumphs,  humiliations.  A  very  pretty  picture  to  contemplate 
from  the  outside,  this  little  world  in  holiday  clothes,  framed  in 
greenery,  but  just  as  on  the  Brocken,  where  the  nicest  girl 
among  the  dancers  had  the  unpleasant  peculiarity  of  dropping 
a  little  red  mouse  out  of  her  mouth — so,  too,  here,  under  differ- 
ent forms,  there  were  red  mice  dropping  about  among  the  com- 
pany. Here  a  hint  of  coming  insolvency ;  there  a  whisper  of  a 
threatened  divorce  suit,  stayed  off  for  a  while  ;  compromises, 
family  secrets,  little  difficulties  everywhere ;  betrothed  couples 
smilingly  accepting  congratulations  who  should  never  have  been 
affianced  were  truth  and  honor  the  rule  of  life ;  forsaken  wives, 
pretending  to  think  their  husbands  models  of  fidelity;  jovial 
creatures  with  ruin  staring  in  their  faces ;  households  divided 
and  shamming  union ;  almost  everybody  living  above  his  or  her 
means  and  the  knowledge  that  nobody  is  any  better  or  any  hap- 
pier than  his  neighbor  society's  only  foundation  of  consolation. 

Lady  Lesbia's  gowns  and  parasols  had  been  admired,  her  en- 
gagement had  furnished  an  infinity  of  gossip  and  the  fact  of 
Montesma's  constant  attendance  upon  her  had  given  zest  to  the 
situation,  just  that  flavor  of  peril  and  fatality  which  the  soul  of 
society  loveth. 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  them  both  ? "  asked  an  ancient  dowa- 
ger of  the  ever-young  type. 

'*  No,  dear  Lady  Sevenoaks ;  she  can  only  marry  one,  don't 
you  know ;  but  the  other  is  nice  to  go  about  with — and  I  believe 
it  is  the  other  she  really  likes." 

"  It  is  always  the  other  that  a  woman  likes,"  answered  the 
dowager.  "  I  am  madly  in  love  with  this  Peruvian — no,  I  think 
you  said  Cuban — myself.     I  wish  some  good-natured  creature 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  341 

would  present  him  to  me.  If  you  know  anybody  who  knows 
him  tell  them  to  bring  him  to  my  next  afternoon — Saturday. 
But  why  does— chose— machin—Smithson  allow  such  a  hand- 
some hanger-on  ?  After  marriage  I  could  understand  that  he 
might  not  be  able  to  help  himself ;  but  before  marraige  a  man 
generally  has  some  kind  of  authority." 

The  world  wondered  a  little,  just  as  Lady  Sevenoaks  won- 
dered, at  Smithson's  complacency  in  allowing  a  man  so  attract- 
ive as  Montesma  to  be  so  much  in  the  society  of  his  future  wife  ; 
yet  even  the  censorious  could  but  admit  that  the  Cuban's  man- 
ner offered  no  ground  for  offense.  He  came  to  Goodwood  "  on 
his  own  hook,"  as  society  put  it;  and  every  man  who  wears  a 
decent  coat  and  is  not  a  welsher  has  a  right  to  enjoy  the  pret- 
tiest race-course  in  England.  He  spent  a  considerable  part  of 
the  day  in  Lesbia's  company ;  but  since  she  was  the  center  of  a 
little  crowd  all  the  time,  there  could  be  no  offense  in  this.  He 
was  a  stranger,  knowing  very  few  people,  and  having  nothing  to 
do  but  amuse  himself.  Smithson  was  an  old  and  familiar  friend, 
and  was  in  a  measure  bound  to  give  him  hospitality. 

Mr-  Smithson  had  recognized  that  obligation,  but  in  a  some- 
what sparing  manner.  There  were  a  dozen  unoccupied  bed- 
chambers in  the  Park  Lane  Renaissance  Villa ;  but  Smithson 
did  not  invite  his  Cuban  acquaintance  to  shift  his  quarters  from 
the  St.  James's  Hotel  to  Park  Lane.  He  was  civil  to  Don 
Gomez,  but  any  one  who  had  taken  the  trouble  to  watch  and 
study  the  conduct  and  social  relations  of  these  two  men  would 
have  seen  that  his  civility  was  a  forced  civility,  and  that  he  en- 
dured the  Spaniard's  society  under  constraint  of  some  kind. 

And  now  all  the  world  was  flocking  to  Cowes  for  the  regatta, 
and  Lesbia  and  her  chaperon  were  established  on  board  Mr. 
Smithson's  yacht,  the  Cayman  :  and  the  captain  of  the  Cayman 
and  all  her  crew  were  delivered  over  to  Lesbia  to  be  her  slaves, 
and  to  obey  her  lightest  breath.  The  Cayman  was  to  lie  at 
anchor  off  Cowes  for  the  regatta  week,  and  then  she  was  to  sail 
for  Ryde,  and  lie  at  anchor  there  for  another  regatta  week,  and 
she  was  to  be  a  floating  hotel  for  Lady  Lesbia  so  long  as  the 
young  lady  would  condescend  to  occupy  her. 

The  captain  was  an  altogether  exceptional  captain,  and  the 
crew  were  a  picked  crew,  ruddy  faced,  sandy  whiskered  for  the 
most  part.  Englishmen  all,  honest,  hardy  fellows  from  between 
the  Nore  and  the  Wash,  talking  in  an  honest  provincial  patois, 
dashed  with  sea  slang.  They  were  the  very  pink  and  pattern  of 
cleanliness,  and  the  Cayman  herself  from  stem  to  stern  was 
dazzling  and  spotless  to  an  almost  painful  degree. 


342 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


Not  content  with  the  existing  arrangements  of  the  yacht, 
which  were  at  once  elegant  and  hixurious,  Mr.  Smithson  had 
sent  down  a  Bond  Street  upholsterer  to  refit  the  saloon  and 
Lady  Lesbia's  cabin.  The  dark  velvet  and  morocco  which 
suited  a  masculine  occupant  would  not  have  harmonized  with 
girlhood  and  beauty,  and  Mr.  Smithson's  saloon,  as  originally 
designed,  had  something  of  the  air  of  a  tabagie.  The  Bond 
Street  man  stripped  away  all  the  velvet  and  morocco,  plucked 
up  the  Turkey  carpet,  draped  the  windows  with  pale  yellow  cre- 
tonne garnished  with  orange  pompons,  covered  the  divans  with 
Persian  saddlebags,  the  floor  with  a  delicate  India  matting,  and 
furnished  the  saloon  with  all  that  was  most  feminine  in  the 
way  of  bamboo  chairs  and  tea  tables,  Japanese  screens  and  fans 
of  gorgeous  coloring.  Here  and  there  against  the  fluted  yellow 
drapery  he  fastened  a  large  Rhodes  plate,  and  the  thing  was 
done.  Lady  Lesbia's  cabin  was  all  bamboo  and  embroidered 
India  muslin.  An  oval  glass,  framed  in  Dresden  biscuit,  adorned 
the  wall,  a  large  white  bearskin  covered  the  floor.  The  berth 
was  pretty  enough  for  the  cradle  of  a  duchess's  first  baby. 
Even  Lesbia,  spoiled  by  much  indulgence  and  unlimited  credit, 
gave  a  little  cry  of  pleasure  at  sight  of  the  nest  that  had  been 
made  ready  for  her. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Smithson  is  immensely  kind,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Smithson  is  always  kind,"  answered  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  And 
you  don't  half  enough  appreciate  him.  He  has  given  me  his 
very  own  cabin — such  a  dear  little  den.  There  are  his  cigar 
boxes  and  everything  lovely  on  the  shelves,  and  his  own  particu- 
lar dressing-case  put  open  for  me  to  use — all  the  backs  of  all 
the  brushes  repousse  silver,  and  all  the  scent  bottles  filled  ex- 
pressly for  me.  If  the  yacht  would  only  stand  quite  still  I 
should  think  it  more  delicious  than  the  best  house  I  ever  stayed 
in ;  only  I  don't  altogether  enjoy  that  little  way  it  has  of  gurg- 
ling up  and  down." 

Mr.  Smithson's  chief  butler,  a  German  Swiss,  and  a  treasure 
of  intelligence,  had  come  down  to  take  the  domestic  arrange- 
ments of  the  yacht  into  his  control.  The  Park  Lane  chief  was 
also  on  board,  Mr.  Smithson's  steward  acting  as  his  subordinate, 
grumbling  sorely  at  the  smallness  of  his  surroundings ;  for  the 
most  luxurious  yacht  was  a  poor  substitute  for  the  spacious 
kitchens  and  storerooms  and  stillrooms  of  the  London  man- 
sion. There  was  a  cabin  for  Lady  Kirkbank's  Rilboche  and 
Lady  Lesbia's  Kibble,  where  the  two  might  squabble  at  their 
leisure ;  in  a  word,  everything  had  been  done  that  forethought 
could  do  to  make  the  yacht  as  perfect  a  place  of  sojourn  as  any 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  343 

floating  habitation,  from  Noah's  Ark  to  the  Orient  steamers, 
had  ever  been  made. 

It  was  between- four  and  five  upon  a  deUcious  July  afternoon 
that  Lady  Kirkbank  and  her  charge  came  on  board.  The 
maids  and  the  luggage  had  been  sent  a  day  in  advance,  so  that 
everything  might  be  in  its  place  and  the  empty  boxes  all 
stowed  away  before  the  ladies  arrived.  They  had  nothing  to  do 
but  walk  on  board  and  fling  themselves  into  the  low  luxurious 
chairs  ready  for  them  on  the  deck,  a  little  wearied  by  the  heat 
and  dust  of  a  railway  journey,  and  with  that  delicious  sense  of 
languid  indifference  to  all  the  cares  of  life  which  seems  to  be  in 
the  very  atmosphere  of  a  perfect  summer  afternoon. 

A  striped  awning  covered  the  deck,  and  great  baskets  of 
roses — pink,  and  red,  and  yellow — were  placed  about  here  and 
there.  Tea  was  ready  upon  a  low  table,  a  swinging  brass  ket- 
tle hissing  merrily,  with  an  air  of  supreme  homeliness. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  accompanied  his  fiancee  from  town,  and 
now  sat  reading  the  Globe^  and  meekly  waiting  for  his  tea, 
while  Lesbia  took  a  languid  survey  of  the  shore  and  flotilla  of 
boats,  little  and  big,  and  while  Lady  Kirkbank  rhapsodized 
about  the  yacht,  praising  everything,  and  calling  almost  every- 
thing by  the  wrong  name.  He  was  to  be  their  guest  all  day, 
and  every  day.  They  were  to  have  enough  of  him,  as  Lesbia 
had  observed  to  her  chaperon,  with  a  spice  of  discontent,  not 
quite  so  delighted  with  the  arrangement  as  her  faithful  swain. 
To  him  the  idea  was  rapture. 

"  You  have  contrived  somehow  to  keep  me  very  much  at  a 
distance  hitherto,"  he  told  Lesbia,  "  and  I  feel  sometimes  as  if 
we  were  almost  strangers  ;  but  a  yacht  is  the  best  place  in  the 
world  to  brmg  two  people  together,  and  a  week  at  Cowes  will 
make  us  nearer  to  each  other  and  more  to  each  other  than  three 
months  in  London,"  and  Lesbia  had  said  nothing,  inwardly  re- 
volting at  the  idea  of  becoming  any  nearer  and  dearer  to  this 
man  whom  she  had  pledged  herself  to  marry.  She  was  to  be 
his  wife — yes,  some  day — and  it  was  his  desire  the  some  day 
should  be  soon  ;  but  in  the  interval  the  dearest  privilege  of  her 
brief  freedom  was  the  power  to  keep  him  at  a  distance. 

And  yet  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  break  with  him, 
to  say  honestly  "  I  never  liked  you  much,  and  now  we  are  en- 
gaged I  find  myself  liking  you  less  and  less  every  day.  Save 
me  from  the  irrecoverable  wickedness  of  a  loveless  marriage. 
Forgive  me,  and  let  me  go."  No,  this  she  could  not  bring  her- 
self to  say.  She  did  not  like  Mr.  Smithson,  but  she  valued  the 
position  he  was  able  to  give  her.     She  wanted  to  be  mistress  of 


344  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

that  infinite  wealth — she  could  not  renounce  that  right  to  which 
she  fancied  she  had  been  born,  her  right  to  be  one  of  the 
queens  of  society ;  and  the  only  man  who  had  offered  to  crown 
her  as  queen,  to  find  her  a  palace  and  a  court,  was  Horace 
Smithson.  Without  Mr.  Smithson  her  first  season  would  have 
resulted  in  dire  failure.  She  might  perhaps  have  endured  that  fail- 
ure, and  been  content  to  abide  the  chances  of  a  second  season, 
had  it  not  been  for  Mary's  triumph.  But  for  Mary  to  be  a 
countess  and  for  Lesbia  to  remain  Lesbia  Haselden,  a  nobody, 
dependent  upon  the  caprices  of  a  grandmother  whose  means 
might  after  all  be  but  limited — no,  that  concatenation  was  not 
to  be  endured.  Lesbia  told  herself  that  she  could  not  go  back 
to  Fellside  to  remain  there  indefinitely  a  spinster  and  a  depend- 
ent. She  had  learnt  the  true  value  of  money ;  she  had  found 
out  what  the  world  was  like ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  some 
such  person  as  Mr.  Smithson  was  essential  to  her  existence, 
just  as  a  butler  is  a  necessity  in  a  house.  One  may  not  like  the 
man,  but  the  post  must  be  filled. 

Again,  if  she  were  to  throw  over  Mr.  Smithson,  and  specu- 
late upon  her  chances  of  next  year,  what  hope  had  she  of 
doing  better  in  her  second  season  than  in  her  first.  The  hori- 
zon was  blank.  There  was  no  great  parti  likely  to  offer  himself 
for  competition.  She  had  seen  all  that  the  market  could  pro- 
duce. Wealthy  bachelors,  high-born  lovers,  could  not  drop 
from  the  moon.  Lesbia,  schooled  by  Lady  Kirkbank,  knew 
her  peerage  by  heart ;  and  she  knew  that,  having  missed  Lord 
Hartfield,  the're  was  really  no  one  in  the  Blue  Book  worth 
waiting  for.  Thus,  caring  only  for  those  things  which  wealth 
can  buy,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she  could  not  do  with- 
out Homce  Smithson's  money,  and  she  must  therefore  needs 
resign  herself  to  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  taking  Smithson 
and  his  money  together.  "The  great  auctioneer  Fate  would  not 
divide  the  lot  to  please  her. 

She  told  herself  that  for  her  a  loveless  marriage  was,  after 
all,  no  prodigious  sacrifice.  She  had  found  out  that  heart  made 
but  a  small  figure  in  the  sum  of  her  life.  She  could  do  without 
love.  A  year  ago  she  had  fancied  herself  in  love  with  John 
Hammond.  In  her  seclusion  at  St.  Bees  in  the  long,  dull 
August  days,  sauntering  up  and  down  by  the  &^g&  of  the  sea  in 
the  melancholy  sunset  hour,  she  thought  that  her  heart  was 
broken,  that  life  was  worthless  without  him.  She  had  thought 
and  felt  all  this,  but  not  strongly  enough  to  urge  her  to  any 
great  effort,  not  keenly  enough  to  make  her  burst  her  chains. 
She  had  preferred  to  suffer  this  loss  than  to  sacrifice  her  chances 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  345 

of  future  aggrandizement.  And  now  she  looked  back  and 
remembered  those  sunset  walks  by  the  sea  and  all  her  thoughts 
and  feelings  in  those  silent  summer  hours,  and  she  smiled  at 
herself  half  in  scorn,  half  in  pity  for  her  own  weakness.  How 
easily  she  had  learnt  to  do  without  him  who  at  that  hour  seemed 
the  better  part  of  her  existence.  A  good  deal  of  gayety  and 
praise,  a  little  mild  flirtation  at  Kirkbank  Castle,  and  lo,  the 
image  of  her  first  lover  began  to  grow  dim  and  blurred,  like  a 
faded  photograph.  A  season  at  Cannes,  and  she  was  cured. 
A  week  in  London,  and  that  first  love  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  a 
dream  from  which  the  dreamer  awakeneth  forgetting  the  things 
that  he  has  dreamt. 

Remembering  all  this  she  told  herself  that  she  had  no  heart, 
that  love  or  no  love  was  a  question  of  very  little  moment,  and 
that  the  personal  qualities  of  the  man  whom  she  chose  for  her 
husband  mattered  nothing  to  her,  provided  that  his  lands  and 
houses  and  social  status  came  up  to  her  standard  of  merit.  She 
had  seen  Mr.  Smithson's  houses  and  lands,  and  she  was  dis- 
tinctly assured  that  he  would  in  due  course  be  raised  lo  a  peer- 
age.    She  had,  therefore,  every  reason  to  be  satisfied. 

Having  thus  reasoned  out  the  circumstances  of  her  new  life, 
she  accepted  her  fate  with  a  languid  grace  which  became  her 
delicate  and  patrician  beauty.  Nobody  could  have  for  a  mo- 
ment supposed  from  her  manner  that  she  loved  Horace  Smithson  ; 
but  nobody  had  the  right  to  think  that  she  detested  him.  She 
accepted  his  attentions  as  a  thing  of  course.  The  flowers  which 
he  strewed  beneath  her  footsteps  ;  the  pearls  which  he  melted 
in  her  wine  —  metaphorically  speaking  —  were  just  "  good 
enough "  and  no  more.  This  afternoon,  when  Mr.  Smithson 
asked  her  how  she  liked  the  arrangements  of  the  saloon  and 
cabin,  she  said  she  thought  they  would  do  very  nicely.  "  They 
would  do."     Nothing  more. 

"It  is  dreadfully, small,  of  course,"  she  said,  "when  one  is 
accustomed  to  rooms  ;  but  it  is  rather  amusing  to  be  in  a  sort  of 
doll's  house,  and  on  deck  it  is  really  very  nice." 

This  was  the  most  Mr.  Smithson  had  for  his  pains,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  content  therewith.  If  a  man  will  marry  the  pret- 
tiest girl  of  the  year  he  must  be  satisfied  M'ith  such  scant  civility 
as  conscious  perfection  may  give  him.  We  know  that  Aphrodite 
was  not  altogether  the  most  comfortable  wife,  and  that  Helen 
was  a  cause  of  trouble. 

Mr.  Smithson  sat  in  a  bamboo  chair  beside  his  mistress, 
and  looked  ineffably  happy  when  she  handed  him  a  cup  of  tea. 
Sky  and  sea  were  one  exquisite  azure — the  colors  of  the  boats 


346  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

glancing  in  the  sunshine  as  if  they  had  been  jewels — here  an 
emerald  rudder,  there  gunwale  painted  with  liquid  rubies. 
White  sails,  white  frocks,  white  ducks  made  vivid  patches  of 
light  against  the  blue.  The  landscape  yonder  shone  and 
sparkled  as  if  it  had  been  incandescent.  All  the  world  of  land, 
and  sky,  and  sea  was  steeped  in  sunshine.  A  day  on  which 
to  do  nothing,  read  nothing,  think  nothing,  only  to  exist. 

While  they  sat  basking  in  the  balmy  atmosphere,  looking  la- 
zily at  that  bright,  almost  insupportable  picture  of  blue  sea  under 
blue  sky,  there  came  the  dip  of  oars  making  music,  and  a  sound 
of  coolness  with  every  plash  of  water. 

"  How  good  it  is  of  somebody  to  row  about,  just  to  give  us 
that  nice  soothing  sound,"  murmured  Lesbia. 

Lady  Kirkbank,  with  her  dear  old  head  thrown  back  upon 
the  cushion  of  her  luxurious  chair,  and  her  dear  little  cornflower 
hat  just  a  thought  on  one  side,  was  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  just, 
and  showing  the  little  golden  arrangements  which  gave  variety 
to  her  front  teeth. 

The  soothing  sound  came  nearer  and  nearer,  close  under  the 
Cayman's  bows,  and  then  a  brown  hand  clasped  the  gunwale, 
and  a  light,  slim  figure  swung  itself  upon  deck,  while  the  boat 
bobbed  and  splashed  below. 

It  w^as  Montesma,  who  had  not  been  expected  till  the  racing, 
which  was  not  to  begin  for  two  days.  A  faint,  faint  rose  bloom 
flushed  Lady  Lesbia's  cheek  at  sight  of  him  ;  and  Mr.  Smithson 
gave  a  little  look  of  vexation,  just  one  quick  contraction  of  the 
eyebrows,  which  ironed  itself  out  to  conventional  placidity  the 
next  instant. 

"  So  good  of  you,"  he  murmured.  "  I  really  did  not  expect 
you  till  the  beginning  of  the  week." 

"  London  is  simply  insupportable  in  this  weather — most  of  all 
for  a  man  born  in  the  Havanas.  My  soul  thirsted  for  blue 
water.  So  I  said  to  myself,  this  good  Smithson  is  at  Cowes ; 
he  will  give  me  the  run  of  his  club  and  a  room  at  his  villa. 
W^hy  not  go  to  Cowes  at  once  ?" 

"  The  room  and  the  club  are  at  your  service.  I  have  only 
two  or  three  of  my  people  at  Formosa,  but  just  enough  to  look 
after  a  bachelor  friend." 

"  I  want  very  little  service,  my  dear  fellow,"  answered  Mon- 
tesma pleasantly.  "  A  man  who  has  crossed  the  Cordilleras 
and  camped  in  the  primeval  forest  on  the  shores  of  the  Amazon 
learns  to  help  himself.  So  this  is  the  Cayman  ?  Muy  deleitoso, 
A  floating  Paradise  in  little.     If  the  ark  had  been 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  347 

like  this,  I  don't  think  any  of  the  passengers  would  have  wanted 
the  flood  to  dry  up." 

He  shook  hands  with  Lady  Lesbia  as  he  spoke,  and  with 
Lady  Kirkbank,  who  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  part  of  her 
dream,  and  then  he  sank  into  the  chair  on  Lesbia's  left  hand 
with  the  air  of  being  established  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

"  I  have  left  my  portmanteaus  at  the  end  of  the  pier,"  he  said 
lazily.  *'  I  dare  say  one  of  your  fellows  will  be  good  enough  to 
take  them  to  Formosa  for  me  t " 

Mr.  Smithson  gave  the  necessary  order.  All  the  beauty  had 
gone  out  of  the  sea  and  the  sky  for  him,  all  the  contentment 
from  his  mind ;  and  yet  he  was  in  no  position  to  rebel  against 
Fate — in  no  position  to  say  directly  or  indirectly,  "  Don  Gomez 
de  Montesma,  I  don't  want  you  here,  and  I  must  request  you 
to  transfer  yourself  elsewhere." 

Lesbia's  feelings  were  curiously  different.  The  very  sight  of 
that  nervous  brown  hand  upon  the  gunwale  had  sent  a  strange 
thrill  through  her  veins.  She  who  believed  herself  heartless 
could  scarce  trust  herself  to  speak  for  the  vehement  throbbing 
of  her  heart.  A  sense  of  joy  too  deep  for  words  possessed  her 
as  she  reclined  in  her  low  chair,  with  drooping  eyelids,  yet  feel- 
ing the  fire  of  those  dark  Southern  eyes  upon  her  face,  scorch- 
ing her  like  an  actual  flame. 

"  Lady  Lesbia,  may  I  have  a  cup  of  tea  ?  "  he  asked,  not  be- 
cause he  wanted  the  tea,  but  only  for  the  cruel  delight  of  seeing 
if  she  were  able  to  give  it  to  him. 

Her  hands  shook,  fluttered,  wandered  helplessly,  as  she 
poured  out  that  cup  of  tea  and  handed  it  to  Montesma,  a  femi- 
nine office  which  she  had  performed  calmly  enough  for  Mr. 
Smithson.  The  Spaniard  took  the  cup  from  her  with  a  quiet 
smile,  a  subtle  look  which  seemed  to  explore  the  inmost  depth 
of  her  consciousness. 

Yes,  this  man  was  verily  her  master.  She  knew  it,  and  he 
knew  it,  as  that  look  of  his  told  her.  Vain  to  play  her  part  of 
languid  indifference — vain  to  struggle  against  her  bondage.  In 
heart  and  spirit  she  was  at  his  feet,  an  odalisque,  recognizing 
and  bowing  down  to  her  sultan. 

Happily  for  the  general  peace,  Mr.  Smithson  had  been  looking 
away  seaward,  with  a  somewhat  troubled  brow,  while  that  little 
cup  and  saucer  episode  was  being  enacted.  And  in  the  next 
instant  Lesbia  had  recovered  her  self-command,  and  resumed 
that  graceful  languor  which  was  one  of  her  charms.  She  was 
weak,  but  she  was  not  altogether  foolish,  and  she  had  no  idea 
of  succumbing  to  this  new  influence — of  yielding  herself  up  to 


348  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

this  conqueror,  who  seemed  to  take  her  life  into  his  hand  as  if 
it  were  a  bit  of  thistledown.  Her  agitation  of  those  few  first 
minutes  was  due  to  the  suddenness  of  his  appearance — the  reac- 
tion from  dullness  to  delight.  She  had  been  told  that  he  was 
not  to  be  at  Cowes  till  Monday,  and  lo  !  he  was  here  at  her  side, 
just  as  she  was  thinking  how  empty  and  dreary  life  was  without 
him. 

He  dropped  into  his  place  so  naturally  and  easily,  made  him- 
self so  thoroughly  at  home  and  so  agreeable  to  every  one,  that 
it  was  almost  impossible  for  Horace  Smithson  to  resent  his  au- 
dacity. Mr.  Smithson's  vitals  might  be  devoured  by  the  gnaw- 
ing of  the  green-eyed  monster,  but  however  fierce  that  gnawing 
were  he  did  not  want  to  seem  jealous.  Montesma  was  there  as 
the  very  incarnation  of  some  experiences  in  Mr.  Smithson's  past 
career  and  he  dared  not  object  to  the  man's  presence. 

And  so  the  summer  day  wore  on.  They  had  the  yacht  all  to 
themselves  that  evening,  for  the  racing  yachts  were  fulfilling  en- 
gagements in  other  waters,  and  the  gay  company  of  pleasure 
seekers  had  not  yet  fully  assembled.  They  were  dropping  in 
one  by  one  all  the  evening,  and  Cowes  Roads  grew  fuller  of  life 
with  every  hour  of  the  summer  night. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Smithson,  with  his  gentlemanlike  drawl. 
"  Spanish  America  and  the  West  Indies  are  delightful  places  to 
talk  about.  There  are  so  many  things  one  leaves  out  of  the 
picture  ;  thieves,  niggars,  snakes,  mosquitos,  yellow  jack,  creep- 
ing, crawling  creatures  of  all  kinds.  I  always  feel  very  glad  I 
have  been  to  South  America." 

"  Why  .?  " 

"  In  order  that  I  may  never  go  there  again,"  replied  Mr. 
Smithson. 

"  I  was  beginning  to  hope  you  would  take  me  there,  some 
day,"  said  Lesbia. 

"  Never  again  ;  no,  not  even  for  your  sake.  No  man  should 
ever  leave  Europe  after  he  is  five-and-thirty  ;  indeed  I  doubt  if 
after  that  age  he  should  venture  beyond  the  Mediterranean. 
That  is  the  sea  of  civilization.  Anything  outside  it  means  bar- 
barism." 

Montesma  taught  Lady  Kirkbank  monte,  which  delighted  her, 
and  which  she  would  introduce  at  her  supper-parties  in  the  half 
season  in  November,  when  she  should  be  in  London  for  a  week 
or  two,  as  a  bird  of  passage,  flitting  southward.  He  began  to 
teach  Lesbia  Spanish,  a  language  for  which  she  had  taken  a  sud- 
den fancy  ;  and  it  is  curious  what  tender  accents,  what  hid- 
den meanings  even  a  grammar  can  take  from  such  a  teacher. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  349 

Spanish  came  easily  enough  to  a  learner  who  had  been  thor- 
oughly drilled  in  French  and  Italian,  and  who  had  been  taught 
the  rudiments  of  Latin  ;  so  by  the  end  of  a  lesson,  which  went 
on  at  intervals  all  day,  the  pupil  was  able  to  lisp  a  passage  of 
Don  Quixote  in  the  sweetest  Castilian,  very  sweet  to  the  ear  of 
Don  Gomez — a  kind  of  baby  language,  precious  as  the  first 
half-formed  syllables  of  infancy  to  a  mother's  ear. 

Montesma  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  himself  and  his 
companions  all  day  in  the  saloon,  amidst  odors  of  roses  and 
peaches,  in  a  shadowy  coolness  made  by  striped  silken  blinds, 
chocolate  color  and  sage  green  ;  but  Mr.  Smithson  was  not  so 
much  his  own  master.  That  innumerable  company  of  friends 
which  are  the  portion  of  the  rich  man  given  to  hospitality  would 
not  let  the  owner  of  the  Cayman  go  scot  free. 

Mr.  Smithson  had  business  on  shore,  and  was  fain  to  leave 
the  yacht  for  an  hour  or  two  before  dinner.  He  invited  Don 
Gomez  to  go  with  him,  but  the  oifer  was  graciously  declined. 

"  Amigo,  I  don't  care  even  to  look  at  land  in  such  weather. 
It  is  so  detestably  dry,"  he  pleaded.  "  It  is  only  the  sound  of 
the  sea  gurgling  against  the  hull  that  reconciles  one  to  existence. 
Go,  and  be  happy  at  your  club,  and  send  off  those  occult  tele- 
grams of  yours,  dearest.  I  shall  not  leave  the  Cayman  till  bed- 
time." 

He  looked  as  fresh  and  as  cool  as  if  utterly  unaffected  by  the 
heat,  which  to  a  Cuban  must  have  been  a  merely  lukewarm  con- 
dition of  the  atmosphere.  But  he  affected  to  be  prostrate,  and 
Smithson  could  not  insist.  He  had  his  cards  to  play  m  a  game 
which  required  extremest  caution,  and  there  were  no  friendly 
indicators  on  the  backs  of  his  kings  and  aces.  He  was  feeling 
his  way  in  the  dark,  and  did  not  know  how  much  mischief  Mon- 
tesma was  prepared  to  do.  %, 

When  the  owner  of  the  yacht  was  gone,  Don  Gomez  proposed 
an  adjournment  to  the  deck  for  afternoon  tea,  and  the  trio  sat 
under  the  awning,  drinking  and  gossiping  for  the  next  hour. 
Lady  Kirkbank  told  the  steward  to  say  not  at  home  to  every- 
body, just  as  if  she  had  a  street  door. 

"There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  dolce  far  niente  about  this,"  said 
Montesma  presently,  "  but  don't  you  think  we  have  been  an- 
chored in  sight  of  that  shabby  little  town  quite  long  enough,  and 
that  it  would  be  rather  nice  to  spread  our  wings  and  sail  round 
the  island  before  the  racing  begins  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  quite  exquisite,"  said  Lesbia.  "  I  am  very  tired 
of  inaction,  though  I  dearly  love  learning  Spanish,"  she  added 
with  a  lovely  smile,  and  a  look  that  was  half  submissive,  half 


350  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

mutinous.       "But   I   have    really  been    beginning   to  wonder 
whether  this  boat  can  move." 

"  You  will  see  that  she  can,  and  at  a  smart  pace  too,  if  I  sail 
her.  Shall  we  circumnavigate  the  island.?  We  can  set  sail  after 
dinner." 

"  Will  Mr.  Smithson  consent,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Why  does  Smithson  exist,  except  to  obey  you." 

"  I  don't  know  if  Lady  Kirkbank  would  quite  like  it,"  said 
Lesbia,  looking  at  her  chaperon,  who  was  waving  a  big  Japanese 
fan,  slowly,  unsteadily,  and  with  a  somewhat  drunken  air,  the 
while  she  slid  into  dreamland. 

"Quite  like  what.'"'  she  murmured  drowsily. 

"A  little  sail." 

"  I  should  dearly  love  it,  if  it  didn't  make  me  sea-sick." 

"  Sea-sick  on  a  glassy  lake  like  this,  impossible,"  said  Mon- 
tesma.  "  I  consider  the  thing  settled.  We  set  sail  after  din- 
ner." 

Mr.  Smithson  came  back  to  the  yacht  just  in  time  to  dress  for 
dinner.  Don  Gomez  excused  himself  from  putting  on  his  dress 
suit.  He  was  going  to  sail  the  yacht  himself,  and  he  was 
dressed  for  his  work,  picturesquely,  in  white  duck  trowsers,  white 
silk  shirt,  and  black  velvet  shooting  jacket.  He  dined,  with  the 
permission  of  the  ladies,  in  this  costume,  in  which  he  looked 
ever  so  much  handsomer  than  in  the  livery  of  polite  life.  He 
had  a  red  scarf  tied  around  his  waist,  and  when  at  his  work  by 
and  by  he  wore  a  little  red  silk  cap,  just  stuck  lightly  on  his 
dark  hair.  The  dinner  to-day  was  all  animation  and  even  excite- 
ment, very  different  from  the  languorous  calm  of  yesterday.  Les- 
bia seemed  a  new  creature.  She  talked  and  laughed  and  flashed 
and  sparkled  as  she  had  never  yet  done  within  Mr.  Smithson's 
experience.  He  contemplated  the  transformation  with  wonder 
not  unmixed  with  suspicion.  Never  for  him  had  she  been  so 
brilliant — never  in  response  to  his  glances  had  her  violet  eyes 
thus  kindled,  had  her  smile  been  so  entrancingly  sweet.  He 
watched  Montesma,  but  in  him  he  could  find  no  fault.  Even 
jealousy  could  hardly  take  objection  to  the  Spaniard's  manner 
to  Lady  Lesbia.  There  was  not  a  look,  not  a  word  that  hinted 
at  a  private  understanding  between  them,  or  which  seemed  to 
convey  deeper  meanings  than  the  common  language  of  society. 
No,  there  was  no  ground  for  fault-finding;  and  yet  Smithson 
was  miserable.  He  knew  this  man  of  old,  and  knew  his  influ- 
ence over  women. 

They  dined  on  deck  this  evening,  as  they  had  done  the  night 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  351 

before,  the  weather  still  remaining  perfect ;  and  directly  after 
dinner  the  preparations  for  an  immediate  start  began. 

Lesbia  wanted  to  learn  all  about  everything — the  name  of 
every  sail,  of  every  rope.  She  stood  near  the  helmsman,  a  slim, 
graceful  figure  in  a  white  gown  of  soft  material,  with  never  a 
jewel  or  a  flower  to  relieve  that  statuesque  simplicity.  She  wore 
no  hat,  and  the  rich  chestnut  hair  was  rolled  in  a  loose  knot  at 
the  back  of  the  small  Greek-looking  head.  Montesma  came  to 
her  every  now  and  then  to  explain  what  was  being  done ;  and 
by  and  by,  when  the  canvas  was  all  up  and  the  yacht  was  skim- 
ming over  the  water  like  a  giant  swan  borne  by  the  current  of 
some  vast  strong  river,  he  came  and  stayed  by  her  side,  and  they 
two  sat  making  little  baby  sentences  in  Spanish,  he  as  teacher 
and  she  as  pupil,  with  no  one  near  them  but  the  sailors. 

The  owner  of  the  Cayman  had  disappeared  mysteriously  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  sails  were  unfurled  and  Lady  Kirk- 
bank  had  tottered  down  to  the  saloon. 

"  I  am  not  going — cabin,"  she  faltered  when  Lesbia  remon- 
strated with  her,  "  only — going — saloon — sofa — lie  down — little 
— Smithson  take  care — you,"  not  perceiving  that  Smithson  had 
vanished,  "shall  be — quite  close." 

So  Lesbia  and  Don  Gomez  were  alone  under  the  summer 
stars  murmuring  little  bits  of  Spanish. 

"  It  is  the  only  true  way  of  learning  a  language,"  he  said. 
"  Grammars  are  a  delusion." 

It  was  a  very  delightful  and  easy  way  of  learning,  at  any  rate. 
Lesbia  reclined  in  her  bamboo  chair  and  fanned  herself  indo- 
lently and  watched  the  shadowy  shores  of  the  island,  cliff  and 
hill,  down  and  wooded  crest,  flitting  past  her  like  dream-pictures, 
and  her  lips  slowly  shaped  the  words  of  that  soft,  lisping  lan- 
guage— so  simple,  so  musical — a  language  made  for  lovers  and 
for  song,  one  would  think.  It  was  wonderful  what  rapid  prog- 
ress Lesbia  made. 

She  heard  the  church  clock  on  the  island  striking,  and  she  asked 
Don  Gomez  the  time. 

"  Ten,"  he  said. 

"  Ten !  Surely  it  must  be  later.  It  was  past  eight  before 
we  began  dinner,  and  we  have  been  sailing  for  ever  so  long. 
Captain,  kindly  tell  me  the  time,"  she  called  to  the  skipper,  who 
was  looking  over  the  gunwale  a  little  way  off,  smoking  a  medi- 
tative pipe. 

"  Twelve  o^clock,  my  Lady." 

"  Heavens  !  can  I  possibly  have  been  sitting  here  so  long  ?  I 
should  have  so  liked  to  stay  on  deck  all  night  and  watched  the 


352  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

sailing ;  but  I  must  really  take  good  care  of  poor  Lady  Kirk- 
bank.     I  am  afraid  she  is  not  very  well." 

"  She  had  a  somewhat  distracted  air  when  she  went  below, 
but  I  dare  say  she  will  sleep  off  her  troubles.  If  I  were  you  I 
should  leave  her  to  herself." 

*'  Impossible.     What  has  become  of  Mr.  Smithson  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  it  is  with  Mr.  Smithson  as 
poor  Lady  Kirkbank." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  is  ill .''  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  What,  on  a  calm  summer  night,  sailing  over  a  sea  of  glass  ! 
The  owner  of  a  yacht !  " 

"  Rather  ignominious  for  poor  Smithson,  isn't  it  ?  But  men 
who  own  yachts  are  only  mortal,  and  are  sometimes  wretched 
sailors.  Smithson  is  dreadfully  feeble  on  that  point,  as  I  know 
of  old." 

"  Then  wasn't  it  rather  cruel  of  us  to  sail  his  yacht  ? " 

"  Yachts  are  meant  for  sailing,  and,  again,  sea-sickness  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  wholesome  exercise." 

"  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  both  good-nights  in  Spanish,  and  with  a  touch 
of  tenderness  which  the  w^ords  could  hardly  have  expressed  in 
English. 

"  Must  you  really  go  ? "  pleaded  Montesma,  holding  her  hand 
just  a  thought  longer  than  he  had  ever  held  it  before.  "  Ah, 
the  little  more,  and  how  much  it  is,"  says  the  poet. 

"  Really  and  truly." 

"  I  am  so  sorry.  I  wish  you  could  have  stayed  on  deck  all 
night." 

"  So  do  I,  with  all  my  heart.  This  calm  sea  under  the  star-lit 
sky  is  like  a  dream  of  heaven." 

"  It  is  very  nice,  but  if  you  stayed  I  think  I  could  promise 
you  considerable  variety.  We  shall  have  a  tempest  before 
morning," 

''  Of  all  things  in  the  world  I  should  love  to  see  a  thunder- 
storm at  sea." 

"  Be  on  the  alert  then,  and  Captain  Parkes  and  I  will  try  to 
oblige  you." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  have  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  sleep. 
I  shall  stay  with  Lady  Kirkbank  in  the  saloon.  Good-night, 
again." 

•^  Good-night." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  353 

CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

IN    STORM    AND    DARKNESS. 

Lesbia  found  Lady  Kirkbank  prostrate  on  a  low  divan  in  the 
saloon,  awake  and  very  cross.  The  atmosphere  reeked  with  red 
lavender,  sal  volatile,  eau  de  cologne,  and  brandy,  which  latter 
remedy  poor  Georgie  had  taken  freely  in  her  agonies.  Kibble, 
the  faithful  Grasmere  girl,  sat  by  the  divan,  fanning  the  sufferer 
with  a  large  Japanese  fan  out  of  the  fire-place.  Rilboche  had 
naturally,  as  a  French  woman,  succumbed  utterly  to  her  own 
feelings,  and  was  moaning  in  her  berth,  wailing  out  every  now 
and  then  that  she  would  never  have  taken  service  with  Miladi 
had  she  suspected  her  to  be  capable  of  such  cruelty  as  to  take 
her  on  the  sea. 

If  this  was  the  state  of  affairs  now  while  the  ocean  was  only 
gently  stirred,  what  would  it  be  by  and  by  if  the  tempest  should 
really  come. 

"  What  can  you  be  thinking  of,  staying  on  deck  all  night  with 
those  men  ?  "  exclaimed  Lady  Kirkbank,  peevishly.  "  It  is 
hardly  proper." 

She  would  have  been  still  more  inclined  to  object  had  she 
known  that  Lesbia's  companion  had  been  "  that  man,"  rather 
than  "  those  men." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  all  night  t "  Lesbia  retorted  con- 
temptuously.    "  It  is  only  just  twelve." 

"Only  twelve.  I  thought  we  were  close  upon  daylight.  I 
have  suffered  an  eternity  of  agony." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  be  ill ;  but  really  the  sea  has 
been  so  deliciously  calm." 

"  I  believe  I  should  have  suffered  less  if  it  had  been  diabol- 
ically rough.  Oh,  that  monotonous  flip-flap  of  the  water,  that 
slow  heaving  of  the  boat !     Nothing  could  be  worse." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  for  Don  Gomez  says  we  are 
likely  to  have  a  tempest." 

"  A  tempest ! "  shrieked  Georgie.  "  Then  let  him  stop  the 
boat  this  instant  and  put  me  on  shore.  Tell  him  to  land  me 
anywhere — on  the  needles  even.  A  storm  at  sea  will  be  simply 
ray  death." 

"  Dear  Lady  Kirkbank,  I  was  only  joking,"  said  Lesbia,  who 
did  not  want  to  be  bothered  by  her  chaperon's  nervous  appre- 
hensions ;  "  so  far  the  night  is  lovely." 

"  Give  me  a  spoonful  more  brandy,  my  good  creature," — to 


3  54  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Kibble — "  Lesbia,  you  ought  never  have  brought  me  into  this 
miserable  state.  I  consented  to  staying  on  board  the  yacht.  I 
nevei'  consented  to  sailing  on  her." 

"You  will  soon  be  well,  dear  Lady  Kirkbanu,  and  you  will 
have  such  an  appetite  for  breakfast  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Where  shall  we  be  at  breakfast  time  ?  " 

"  Off  St.  Catherine's  Point,  I  believe,  just  half  way  round  the 
island." 

"  If  we  are  not  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,"  groaned  Georgie. 

They  were  now  in  the  open  Channel,  and  the  boat  dipped 
and  rose  to  larger  billows  than  had  encountered  her  course  be- 
fore. Lady  Kirkbank  lay  in  a  state  of  collapse,  in  which  life 
seemed  only  sustainable  by  occasional  teaspoonfuls  of  cognac 
gently  tilted  down  her  throat  by  the  patient  Kibble. 

Lesbia  went  to  her  cabin,  but  with  no  intention  of  remaining 
there.  She  was  firmly  convinced  that  the  storm  would  come, 
and  she  meant  to  be  on  deck  while  it  was  raging.  What  harm 
could  thunder  or  lightning,  hail  or  rain,  do  to  her  w^hile  he  w^as 
by  to  protect  her.  He  would  be  busy  sailing  the  boat,  perhaps, 
but  still  he  would  have  a  moment  now  and  then  in  which  to 
think  of  her  and  care  for  her. 

Yes,  the  storm  was  coming.  There  w^as  a  ghastly  livid  look 
upon  the  waters,  and  the  atmosphere  was  heavy  with  heat ;  the 
sky  to  windward  black  as  a  funeral  pall.  She  was  almost  fear- 
less, yet  she  felt  a  thrill  of  awe  as  she  looked  into  that  dense 
blackness.  To  leeward  the  stars  were  still  visible  ;  but  that  gi- 
gantic mass  of  cloud  came  creeping  slowly,  solemnly,  over  the 
sky,  while  the  shadow  flitted  fast  across  the  waters,  swallowing 
up  that  livid  electric  glare. 

Lesbia  wrapped  herself  in  a  white  cashmere  sortie  de  bal  and 
stole  up  the  companion.  Montesma  was  working  at  the  ropes 
with  his  own  hands,  calling  his  directions  to  the  sailors,  spring- 
ing from  spar  to  spar,  flashing  backward  and  forvv'ard  amidst 
the  rigging  like  a  being  of  supernatural  power.  He  had  taken 
off  his  jacket,  and  was  clad  from  top  to  toe  in  white,  save  for 
that  streak  of  scarlet  wdiich  lightly  girdled  his  waist.  His  tall 
flexible  form,  perfect  in  line  as  a  Greek  statue  of  Hermes,  stood 
out  against  the  background  of  black  night.  His  voice,  with  its 
tones  of  brief  imperious  command,  the  proud  carriage  of  his 
head,  the  easy  grace  of  his  rapid  movements,  all  proclaimed  the 
man  born  to  rule  over  his  fellow  men.  And  it  is  these  master 
spirits,  these  born  rulers,  whom  women  instinctively  recognize 
as  their  sovereign  lords,  and  for  whom  women  count  no  sacrifice 
too  costly. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


355 


In  the  midst  of  his  activity  Montesma  suddenly  saw  that  white- 
robed  figure  standing  at  the  top  of  the  companion  and  flew  to 
her  side.  The  boat  was  pitching  heavily,  dipping  into  the  trough 
of  the  sea  at  an  angle  of  fort3'-five  degrees,  as  it  seemed  to  Lesbia. 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  here,"  said  Montesma,  "  it  is  much 
rougher  than  I  expected." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  will  go  back  to  my 
cabin  if  I  am  in  your  way." 

"  In  my  way  "  (with  deepest  tenderness).  "  Yes,  you  are  in 
my  way,  for  I  shall  think  of  nothing  else  now  you  are  here.  But 
I  believe  we  have  done  all  that  need  be  done  to  the  yacht,  and 
I  can  take  care  of  you  till  the  storm  is  over." 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  as  the  stem  dipped,  and  led  her 
toward  the  stern,  supporting  her  as  her  light  figure  swayed 
against  him  with  the  motion  of  the  boat,  guiding  her  footsteps. 
A  vivid  flash  of  lightning  showed  him  her  face  as  they  stood  for 
an  instant  leaning  against  each  other,  his  arm  encircling  her. 
Ah,  what  deep  feeling  in  that  face,  once  so  passionless  ;  what  a 
new  light  in  those  eyes.  It  was  like  the  awakening  of  a  long 
dormant  soul. 

He  took  the  helm  from  the  captain  and  stood  steering  the  ves- 
sel and  calling  out  his  orders,  with  Lesbia  close  beside  him, 
holding  her  with  his  disengaged  arm,  drawing  her  near  him  as 
the  vessel  pitched  violently,  drawing  her  nearer  still  when  they 
shipped  a  sea  and  a  great  fountain  of  spray  enfolded  them  in  a 
dense  cloud  of  salt  water. 

The  thunder  roared  and  rattled  as  if  it  began  and  ended  close 
beside  them.  Forked  lightnings  zigzagged  amidst  the  rigging. 
Sheet  lightning  enwrapped  those  two  in  a  luminous  atmosphere, 
revealing  faces  that  were  pale  with  passion,  lips  that  trembled 
with  emotion.  There  was  but  scant  opportunity  for  speech,  and 
neither  of  these  two  felt  the  need  of  words.  To  be  together, 
bound  nearer  to  each  other  than  they  had  ever  been  yet,  than 
they  might  ever  be  again,  in  the  midst  of  thunder  and  lightning 
and  dense  clouds  of  spray.  This  was  enough.  Once  when  the 
Cayman  pitched  with  exceptional  fury,  when  the  thunder  crashed 
and  roared  loudest,  Lesbia  found  her  head  lying  on  Montesma's 
breast,  and  his  arms  round  her,  his  lips  upon  her  face.  She  did 
not  wrench  herself  from  that  forbidden  embrace.  She  let  those 
lips  kiss  hers  as  never  mortal  man  had  kissed  her  before — but 
an  instant  later,  when  Montesma's  attention  was  distracted  by 
his  duty  as  steersman,  and  he  let  her  go,  she  slipped  away  in 
the  darkness,  and  melted  from  his  sight  and  touch  like  a  modern 
Undine.     He  dared  not  leave  the  helm  and  follow  her  then.     He 


3S6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

sent  one  of  the  sailors  below  a  little  later,  to  make  sure  that  she 
was  safe  in  her  cabin ;  but  he  saw  her  no  more  that  night. 

The  storm  abated  soon  after  daybreak  and  the  morning  was 
lovely,  but  Don  Gomez  and  Lady  Lesbia  did  not  meet  again 
till  the  church  bells  on  the  island  were  ringing  for  morning  ser- 
vice, and  then  the  lady  was  safe  under  the  wing  of  her  chaperon, 
with  her  affianced  husband  in  attendance  upon  her  at  the  break- 
fast table  in  the  saloon. 

She  received  Montesma  with  the  faintest  inclination  of  the 
head  and  she  carefully  avoided  all  occasion  of  speech  with  him 
during  the  leisurely,  long,  spun  out  meal.  She  was  as  white  as 
her  muslin  gown,  and  her  eyes  told  of  a  sleepless  night.  She 
talked  a  little,  very  little,  to  Lady  Kirkbank  and  Mr.  Smithson 
• — to  the  Spaniard  not  at  all.  And  yet  Montesma  was  in  no 
manner  dashed  by  this  appearance  of  deep  offense.  So  might 
Francesca  have  looked  the  morning  after  that  little  scene  over 
the  book ;  yet  she  sacrificed  her  salvation  for  her  lover,  all  the 
same.  It  was  a  familiar  stage  upon  a  journey  which  Montesma 
knew  by  heart.  Here  the  inclination  of  the  road  was  so  many 
degrees,  more  or  less ;  for  this  hill  you  are  commanded  to  put 
on  an  extra  horse  ;  at  this  stage  it  is  forbidden  to  go  more  than 
twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  Montesma  knew 
every  inch  of  the  ground.  He  put  on  a  little  melancholy  look 
and  talked  very  little.  He  had  been  on  deck  all  night,  and  so 
there  was  an  excuse  for  his  being  quiet. 

Lady  Kirkbank  related  her  impressions  of  the  storm  and 
talked  enough  for  four.  She  had  suffered  the  pangs  of  purgatory, 
but  her  natural  cheeriness  asserted  itself  and  she  made  no  moan- 
ing about  past  agonies,  which  had  exercised  a  really  delightful 
influence  on  her  appetite.  Mr.  Smithson  also  was  cheerful.  He 
had  paid  his  annual  tribute  to  Neptune  and  might  hope  to  go 
valiantly  through  the  rest  of  the  season. 

"  If  I  had  stayed  on  deck  I  must  have  had  my  finger  in  the 
pie,  so  I  thought  it  better  to  go  below  and  get  a  good  night's 
rest  in  the  steward's  cabin,"  he  said,  not  caring  to  confess  his 
sufferings  as  frankly  as  Lady  Kirkbank  admitted  hers. 

After  breakfast,  which  was  prolonged  till  noon,  Montesma 
^sked  Smithson  to  smoke  a  cigarette  on  deck  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  on  a  rather  serious  matter,"  he  said. 

Lesbia  heard  the  words,  and  looked  up  with  a  frightened 
glance.  Could  he  mean  to  attempt  anything  desperate  t  Was 
he  going  to  confess  the  fatal  truth  to  Horace  Smithson,  to  tell 
her  affianced  lover  that  she  was  untrue  to  her  bond,  that  she 
loved  him,  Montesma,  as  fondly  as  he  loved  her,  that  their  two 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  357 

souls  had  mingled  like  two  flames  fanned  by  the  same  current, 
and  thence  a  conflagration  which  must  end  in  ruin  if  she  were 
not  set  free — free  to  follow  where  her  heart  had  gone,  free  to 
belong  to  that  man  whom  her  spirit  chose  for  lord  and  master. 
Her  heart  leapt  at  the  hope  that  Montesma  was  going  to  do  this, 
that  he  was  strong  enough  to  break  her  bonds  for  her,  powerful 
and  rich  enough  to  secure  her  a  brilliant  future.  Yet  this  last 
consideration,  which  hitherto  had  been  paramount,  seemed  now 
of  but  little  moment.  To  be  with  him,  to  belong  to  him,  would 
be  enough  for  bliss.  Albeit  that  in  such  a  choice  she  forfeited 
all  that  she  had  ever  possessed  or  hoped  for  of  earthly  prosper- 
ity. Adventurer,  beggar,  whatever  he  might  be,  she  chose  him 
and  loved  him  with  all  the  strength  of  a  weak  soul  newly  awak- 
ened to  passionate  feeling. 

Unhappily  for  Lesbia  Haselden,  Montesma  was  not  at  all  the 
kind  of  a  man  to  make  so  direct  and  open  a  course  as  that  which 
she  imagined  possible. 

His  business  with  Mr.  Smithson  was  of  quite  a  different  kind. 

"  Smithson,  do  you  know  that  you  have  an  utterly  incompe- 
tent crew  ? "  he  said,  gravely,  when  they  two  were  standing  aft, 
lighting  their  cigarettes. 

"  Indeed  I  do  not.  The  men  are  all  experienced  sailors,  and 
the  captain  ranks  high  among  yachtsmen." 

"  English  yachtsmen  are  not  particularly  good  judges  of  sail- 
ors. I  tell  you  your  skipper  is  no  sailor  and  his  men  are  fools. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  me  the  Cayman  would  have  gone  to  pieces 
on  the  rocks  last  night,  and  if  you  are  to  cross  to  St.  Malo,  as  you 
talk  of  doing,  for  the  regatta  there,  you  had  better  sack  these 
men  and  let  me  get  you  a  South  American  crew.  I  know  of  a 
fellow  who  is  in  London  just  now — the  captain  of  a  Rio  Janeiro 
steamer,  who'll  send  you  a  crew  of  picked  men  if  you  give  me 
authority  to  telegraph  to  him." 

"  I  don't  like  foreign  sailors,"  said  Smithson,  looking  perplexed 
and  worried,  ''  and  I  have  perfect  confidence  in  Wilkinson," 

"  Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  consider  me  a  liar ;  go 
to  the  bottom. your  own  way,  mon  ami;  ce  n'est  pas  mon  affaire," 
said  Montesma,  turning  on  his  heel  and  leaving  his  friend  to  his 
own  devices. 

Had  he  pressed  the  point  Smithson  would  have  suspected  him 
of  some  evil  motive,  and  would  have  been  resolute  in  his  resist- 
ance, but  as  he  said  no  more  about  it  Smithson  began  to  feel 
uncomfortable. 

He  was  no  sailor  himself,  knew  absolutely  nothing  about  the 
navigation  of  his  yacht,  though  he  sometimes  pretended  to  sail 


258  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

her ;  and  he  had  no  power  to  judge  of  his  skipper's  capacity  or 
his  men's  seamanship.  He  had  engaged  the  captain  wholly  on 
the  strength  of  the  man's  reputation,  guaranteed  by  certain  cer- 
tificates which  seemed  to  mean  a  great  deal.  But  after  all  such 
certificates  might  mean  ver}^  little — such  a  reputation  might  be 
no  real  guarantee.  The  sailors  had  been  engaged  by  the  cap- 
tain, and  their  ruddy  faces  and  thoroughly  British  appearance, 
the  exquisite  cleanliness  which  they  maintained  in  every  detail 
of  the  yacht,  had  seemed  to  Mr.  Smithson  the  perfection  of  sea- 
manship. 

But  it  was  not  the  less  true  that  the  cleanest  of  yachts,  with 
deck  of  spotless  whiteness,  sails  of  unsullied  purity,  brasses 
shining  and  sparkling  like  gold  fresh  from  the  goldsmith's,  might 
be  spiked  upon  a  rock,  or  might  founder  on  a  sandbank,  or  heel 
over  under  too  much  canvas.  Mr.  Smithson  was  inclined  to 
suspect  any  proposition  of  Montesma's,  yet  he  was  not  the  less 
disturbed  in  mind  by  his  assertion. 

The  day  wore  on  and  the  yacht  sailed  merrily  over  a  summer 
sea.  Mr.  Smithson  fidgeted'  about  the  deck  uneasily,  watching 
every  movement  of  the  sailors.  No  boat  could  be  saiUng  better 
as  it  seemed  to  him  ;  but  in  such  weather  and  over  such  waters 
any  boat  must  needs  go  easily.  It  was  in  the  blackness  of  night, 
amidst  the  fury  of  the  storm,  that  Montesma's  opinion  had  been 
formed.  Smithson  began  to  think  that  his  friend  was  right.  The 
sailors  had  honest  countenances,  but  they  looked  horribly  stupid. 
Could  men  with  such  vacuous  grins,  such  an  air  of  imbecile  good 
nature,  be  capable  of  acting  wisely  in  any  terrible  crisis — could 
they  have  nerve  and  readiness,  quickness,  decision,  all  those 
grand  qualities  which  are  needed  by  the  seaman  who  has  to  con- 
tend with  the  fury  of  the  elements  ? 

Mr.  Smithson  and  his  guests  had  breakfasted  too  late  for  the 
possibility  of  luncheon.  They  were  in  Cowes  Roads  by  one 
o'clock.  A  fleet  of  yachts  had  arrived  during  their  absence  and 
the  scene  was  full  of  life  and  gayety.  Lady  Lesbia  held  a  levee 
at  afternoon  tea,  and  had  a  crowd  of  her  old  admirers  around  her 
— adorers  whose  presence  in  no  wise  disturbed  Horace  Smith- 
son's  peace.  He  would  have  been  content  that  his  \yife  should 
go  through  life  with  a  herd  of  such  worshipers  following  in  her 
footsteps  ;  he  knew  the  aimless  innocence,  the  almost  infantine 
simplicity  of  the  typical  "Johnnie,  Chappie,  Muscadin,  Petit 
Creve,  Gommeux  " — call  him  by  what  name  you  will.  From  these 
he  feared  no  evil.  But  in  that  one  follower  who  gave  no  outward 
token  of  his  worship  he  dreaded  peril.  It  was  Montesma  he 
watched,  while  dragoons  with   close-cropped  hair  and  imbecile 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  359 

youths  with  heads  rigid  in  four-inch  collars  were  hanging  about 
Lady  Lesbia's  low  bamboo  chair,  and  administering  obsequiously 
to  the  small  necessities  of  the  tea-table. 

It  was  while  this  tea-table  business  was  going  on  that  Mr. 
Smithson  took  the  opportunity  of  setting  his  mind  at  rest,  were  it 
possible,  as  to  the  merits  of  Captain  Wilkinson.  Among  his 
visitors  this  afternoon  there  was  the  owner  of  three  or  four  rac- 
ing yachts — a  man  renowned  for  his  victories  at  home  and 
abroad. 

"  I  think  you  knew  something  of  my  captain,  Wilkinson,  be- 
fore 1  engaged  him,"  said  Smithson,  with  assumed  careless- 
ness. 

"  I  know  every  skipper  on  board  every  boat  in  the  squadron," 
answered  his  friend.  "  A  good  fellow,  W^ilkinson — thoroughly 
honest  fellow." 

"  Honest,  oh,  yes,  I  know  all  about  that.  But  how  about  his 
seamanship  ?  His  certificates  were  wonderfully  good,  but  they 
are  not  eveiything." 

"  Everything,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried  the  other,  "  they  are  next 
to  nothing.     But  I  believe  Wilkinson  is  a  tolerable  sailor." 

This  was  not  encouraging. 

*'  He  has  never  been  unlucky,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Smithson,  you  are  a  great  authority  in  the  city,  but 
you  are  not  very  well  up  in  the  records  of  the  yachting  world, 
or  you  would  know  that  your  Captain  Wilkinson  was  skipper  on 
the  Orinco  when  she  ran  aground  on  Chesil  Bank,  coming  home 
from  Cherbourg  regatta,  fifteen  lives  lost,  and  the  yacht,  in  less 
than  half  an  hour,  ground  to  powaer.  That  was  rather  a  bad 
case,  I  remember ;  for,  though  it  was  a  tempestuous  night,  the 
accident  would  never  have  happened  if  Wilkinson  had  not  mis- 
taken the  lights.  So  you  see  his  Trinity  House  papers  didn't  pre- 
vent his  going  wrong." 

Good  heavens  !  This  was  the  strongest  confirmation  of  Mon- 
tesma's  charge.  The  man  was  a  stupid  man,  an  incapable  man, 
a  man  to  whose  intelligence  and  care  human  life  should  never 
be  trusted.  A  fig  for  his  honesty  !  What  would  honesty  be 
worth  in  a  hurricane  off  the  Chesil  Beach  ?  What  would  hon- 
esty serve  a  ship  pitted  on  one  of  the  Jersey  rocks  ?  Montesma 
was  right.  If  the  Cayman  was  to  make  a  trip  to  St.  Malo  she 
must  be  navigated  by  competent  men.  Horace  Smithson  hated 
foreign  sailors,  copper-faced  ruffians  with  flashing  black  eyes 
which  seemed  to  threaten  murder  did  you  but  say  a  rough  word  to 
them.     Sleek,  raven-haired   scoundrels,  with  bowie   knives   in 


36o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

their  girdles,  ready  for  mutiny.     But,  after  all,  life  is  worth  too 
much  to  be  risked  for  a  prejudice — a  sentiment. 

Perhaps  that  St.  Malo  business  might  be  avoided,  and  then 
there  need  be  no  change  in  captain  or  crew.  The  yacht  must 
be  safe  enough  lying  at  anchor  in  the  roadstead.  By  and  by 
when  the  visitors  had  departed  and  Mr.  Smithson  was  repose- 
fully  enjoying  his  tea  by  Lady  Lesbia's  side,  he  approached  the 
subject. 

"  Do  you  really  care  about  crossing  to  St.  Malo  after  this — 
really  prefer  the  idea  to  Ryde  t  " 

"  Infinitely,"  exclaimed  Lesbia  quickly,  "  Ryde  would  only  be 
Cowes  over  again — a  lesser  Cowes — and  I  thought  when  you 
first  proposed  it  that  the  plan  was  rather  stupid,  though  I  did 
not  want  to  be  uncivil  and  say  so.  But  I  was  delighted  with 
Don  Gomez  de  Montesma's  amendment,  substituting  St.  Malo 
for  Ryde.  In  the  first  place  the  trip  across  will  be  delicious  ;  " 
Lady  Kirkbank  gave  a  faint  groan ;  "  and  in  the  second  I  am 
dying  to  see  Brittany." 

'*  I  doubt  if  you  will  highly  appreciate  St.  Malo.  It  is  a  town 
of  many  and  various  smells." 

"  But  I  want  to  smell  those  foreign  smells  of  which  one  hears 
so  much.  At  least  it  is  an  experience.  We  need  not  be  on 
shore  any  longer  than  we  like.  And  I  want  to  see  that  fine  rocky 
coast,  and  Chateaubriand's  tomb  on  the  what's  its  name.  So 
nice  to  be  buried  in  that  way ;  and  I  am  told  the  bay  and  the 
sands  are  magnificent." 

"  Then  you  have  set  your  heart  on  going  to  St.  Malo,  and 
would  not  like  any  change  in  our  plans." 

"Any  change  will  be  simply  detestable,"  answered  Lesbia, 
all  the  more  decidedly  since  she  suspected  a  desire  for  change 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Smithson. 

She  was  in  no  amiable  humor  this  afternoon.  All  her  nerves, 
every  fiber  of  her  being,  seemed  strained  to  their  utmost  tension. 
She  was  irritated,  tremulous  with  nervous  excitement,  inclined 
to  hate  everybody,  Mr.  Smithson  most  of  all.  In  her  cabin  a 
little  later  on,  when  she  was  changing  her  gown  for  dinner,  and 
Kibble  was  somewhat  slow  and  clum^sy  in  the  lacing  of  the  bod- 
ice, she  wrenched  herself  from  the  girl's  hands,  flung  herself 
into  a  chair  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears. 

"  Oh !  God !  that  I  were  in  one  of  those  islands  in  the  Car- 
ibbean Sea — an  island  where  Europeans  never  come — where  I 
might  lie  down  among  the  ferns  and  sleep  the  rest  of  my  life 
away.  I  am  sick  to  death  of  my  life  here,  of  the  yacht,  the  peo- 
ple— everything." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  361 

"  This  air  is  too  relaxing,  Lady  Lesbia,"  the  girl  murmured 
soothingly,  "  and  you  didn't  have  your  natural  rest  last  night. 
Shall  I  get  you  a  nice  strong  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

"Tea  !  no.  I  have  been  living  upon  tea  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours.  I  have  eaten  nothing.  My  mouth  is  parched  and 
burning.  Oh  !  Kibble  !  "  flinging  her  head  upon  the  girl's  bux- 
om arm,  and  letting  it  rest  there,  "  what  a  happy  creature  you 
are — not  a  care — not  a  care." 

"  I'm  sure  you  can't  have  any  cares,  Lady  Lesbia,"  said  Kib- 
ble with  an  incredulous  smile,  trying  to  smoothe  the  disordered 
hair,  anxious  to  make  haste  with  the  unfinished  toilet,  for  it  was 
within  a  few  minutes  of  eight. 

"  I  am  full  of  care.  I  am  in  debt — horribly  in  debt — getting 
deeper  and  deeper  every  day — and  I  am  going  to  sell  myself  to 
the  only  man  who  can  pay  my  debts  and  give  me  fine  houses,  and 
finery  like  this,"  plucking  at  the  crepe  de  chine  gown,  with  its 
flossy  fringe,  its  delicate  lace,  a  marvel  of  artistic  expenditure 
— a  garment  which  looked  simplicity  itself,  and  which  yet  was  so 
cleverly  contrived  as  to  cost  five-and-thirty  guineas.  The  great- 
est effects  in  it  ought  to  have  been  studied  with  a  microscope. 

"  But  surely,  dear  Laby  Lesbia,  you  won't  marry  Mr.  Smithson 
if  you  don  t  love  him  ?  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  love  has  anything  to  do  with  marriages  in 
society  ? " 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lesbia,  it  would  be  so  unkind  to  him,  so  cruel  to 
yourself." 

"  Cruel  to  myself.  Yes,  I  am  cruel  to  myself.  I  had  the 
chance  of  happiness  a  year  ago,  and  I  lost  it.  I  have  the  chance 
of  happiness  now — yes,  of  consummate  bliss,  and  haven't  the 
courage  to  snatch  at  it.  Take  off  this  horrid  gown,  Kibble,  my 
head  is  splitting.     I  shan't  go  to  dinner." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lesbia,  you  are  treading  on  the  pearl  embroidery," 
remonstrated  poor  Kibble,  as  Lesbia  kicked  the  new  gown  from 
under  her  feet. 

"  What  does  it  matter  !  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  bitter  little 
laugh.     "  It  has  not  been  paid  for — perhaps  it  never  will  be." 

The  dinner  was  silent  and  gloomy.  It  was  as  if  a  star  had 
been  suddenly  blotted  out  of  the  sky.  Smithson,  ordinarily  so 
hospitable,  had  been  too  much  disturbed  in  mind  to  ask  any  of 
his  friends  to  stay  to  dinner  ;  so  there  were  only  Lady  Kirkbank, 
who  was  too  tired  to  be  lively,  and  Montesma,  who  was  inclined  to 
be  thoughtful.  Lady  Lesbia's  absence,  and  the  idea  that  she 
was  ill,  gave  the  feast  almost  a  funeral  air. 

After  dinner  Smithson  and  Montesma  sat  in  the  bows,  smoking 


362  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

their  cigars  and  lazily  watching  the  lights  on  sea  and  the  lights 
on  shore  ;  these  brilliant  in  the  foreground,  those  dim  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

"  Vou  can  telegraph  to  your  Rio  Janeiro  friend  to-morrow 
morning,  if  you  like,"'  said  Smithson  presently,  "  and  tell  him  to 
send  you  a  first-rate  skipper  and  crew.  Lady  Lesbia  has  made 
up  her  mind  to  see  St.  Malo  regatta,  and  with  such  a  sacred 
charge  I  can't  be  too  careful." 

"  I'll  be  on  shore  by  eight  o'clock,"  answerecl  Montesma. 
"  You  have  decided  wisely.  Your  respectable  English  Wilkin- 
son is  an  excellent  man — but  nothing  would  surprise  me  less 
than  his  reducing  your  Cayman  to  matchwood  in  the  next  gale." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

A   NOTE   OF   ALARM. 

That  strange  scene  in  the  old  house  at  Fellside  made  a  pro- 
found impression  upon  Lord  Hartfield.  He  tried  to  disguise 
his  trouble,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  seem  gay  and  at  perfect 
ease  in  his  wife's  company ;  but  his  mind  was  full  of  anxiety, 
and  Mary  loved  him  too  well  to  be  for  a  moment  in  doubt  as  to 
his  feelings. 

"  There  is  something  wrong.  Jack,"  she  said,  while  they  were 
breakfasting  at  a  table  in  the  veranda,  with  the  lake  and  the  hills 
in  front  of  them  and  the  sweet  morning  air  around  them.  "  You 
try  to  talk  and  be  lively,  but  there  is  a  little  perpendicular  wrinkle 
in  your  forehead  which  I  know  as  well  as  the  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet, and  that  little  line  means  worry.  I  used  to  see  it  in  the  old 
days  when  you  were  breaking  your  heart  for  Lesbia.  Why  can- 
not you  be  frank  and  confide  in  me  1  It  is  your  duty,  sir,  as 
my  husband." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  halve  my  burdens  as  well  as  my  joys.  How 
do  I  know  if  those  girlish  shoulders  are  strong  enough  to  bear 
the  weight  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  can  bear  anything  you  can  bear,  and  I  won't  be  cheated 
out  of  my  share  in  your  worries.  If  you  were  obliged  to  have 
a  tooth  out  I  would  have  one  out  too,  for  company." 

*'  I  hope  the  dentist  would  be  too  conscientious  to  allow  that." 

"  Tell  me  your  trouble,  Hartfield,"  she  said  earnestly,  leaning 
across  the  table,  bringing  her  grave,  intelligent  face  near  to 
him. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


363 


They  were  quite  alone,  he  and  she.  The  servants  had  done 
their  ministering.  Behind  them  there  was  the  empty  dining- 
room,  in  front  of  them  the  sun-lit  panorama  of  lake  and  hill. 
There  could  not  be  a  safer  place  for  telling  secrets. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is  that  worries  you,"  Mary  pleaded  again. 

"  I  will,  dear.  After  all,  perfect  trust  is  best,  nay,  it  is  your 
due,  for  you  are  brave  enough  and  true  enough  to  be  trusted 
with  secrets  that  mean  life  and  death.  In  a  word,  then, 
Mary,  the  cause  of  my  trouble  is  that  old  man  we  saw  the  other 
night." 

"  Steadman's  uncle  } '' 

"  Do  you  really  believe  that  he  is  Steadm.an's  uncle  ?  " 

"  My  grandmother  told  me  so,"  answered  Mary,  reddening  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair. 

To  this  girl,  who  was  the  very  soul  of  truth,  there  was  deep- 
est shame  in  the  idea  that  her  kinswoman,  the  woman  to  whom 
of  all  the  world  she  most  owed  reverence  and  honor,  could  be 
deemed  capable  of  falsehood. 

"  Do  you  think  my  grandmother  would  tell  me  an  untruth  ? " 

"  I  do  not  believe  that  man  is  a  poor  dependent,  an  old  serv- 
ant's kinsman,  sheltered  and  cared  for  m  this  house  for  charity's 
sake.  Forgive  me,  Mary,  if  I  doubt  the  word  of  one  you  love, 
but  there  are  positions  in  life  in  which,  a  man  must  judge  for 
himself.  Would  Mr.  Steadman's  kinsman  be  lodged  as  that  old 
man  is  lodged  ?  would  he  talk  as  that  old  man  talks  ?  and  last 
and  greatest  perplexity  of  all,  would  he  possess  >  a  treasure  of 
gold  and  jewels  which  must  be  worth  many  thousands  ?  " 

"  But  you  cannot  know  for  certain  that  those  things  are  val- 
uable— they  may  be  rubbish  that  this  poor  old  man  has  scraped 
together  and  hoarded  for  years,  glass  jewels  bought  at  country 
fairs,  and  those  rouleaux  may  contain  lead  or  coppers." 

'^  I  do  not  think  so,  Mary.  The  stones  had  all  the  brilliancy 
of  valuable  gems,  and  then  there  were  others  in  the  finest  fili- 
gree settings — goldsmith's  work  which  bore  the  stamp  of  an 
Eastern  world.  Take  my  word  for  it,  that  treasure  came  from 
India,  and  it  must  have  been  brought  to  England  by  Lord  Maule- 
vrier.  It  may  have  existed  all  these  years  without  your  grand- 
mother's knowledge.  That  is  quite  possible  ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
impossible  that  such  wealth  should  be  within  the  knowledge  and 
the  power  of  a  pauper  lunatic." 

"  But  if  that  unhappy  old  man  is  not  a  relation  of  Steadman's, 
supported  here  by  my  grandmother's  benevolence,  who  can  he 
be,  and  why  is  he  here  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"Oh,  Molly  dear,  those  are  two  questions  which  I  cannot  an- 


364  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

swer,  and  which  yet  ought  to  be  answered  somehow.  Since  last 
night  I  have  felt  as  if  there  were  a  dark  cloud  lowering  over 
this  house — a  cloud  almost  as  terrible  in  its  menace  of  danger 
as  a  foreshadowing  of  fate  in  a  Greek  legend.  For  your  sake, 
for  the  honor  of  your  face,  for  my  own  self-respect  as  your  hus- 
band, I  feel  that  this  mystery  ought  to  be  solved,  and  all  dark 
things  made  light  before  your  grandmother's  death.  When  she 
is  gone  the  master  key  to  the  past  will  be  lost." 

"  But  she  will  be  spared  for  many  years,  I  hope,  spared  to  sym- 
pathize with  my  happiness,  and  with  Lesbia's." 

"  My  dearest  girl,  we  cannot  hope  that.  The  thread  of  her 
life  is  worn  very  thin.  It  may  snap  at  any  moment.  You  can- 
not look  seriously  in  your  grandmother's  face  and  yet  delude 
yourself  with  the  hope  that  she  has  years  of  life  before 
her." 

"  It  will  be  very  hard  to  part,  just  as  she  has  begun  to  care 
for  me,"  said  Mary,  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  All  such  partings  are  hard,  and  your  grandmother's  life  has 
been  so  lonely  and  joyless  that  the  memory  of  it  must  always 
have  a  touch  of  pain.  One  cannot  say  of  her  as  we  can  of  the 
happy — she  has  lived  her  life — all  things  have  been  given  her 
and  she  falls  asleep  at  the  close  of  a  long  and  glorious  day.  For 
some  reason,  which  I  cannot  understand,  Lady  Maulevrier's  life 
has  been  a  prolonged  sacrifice." 

"  She  has  always  given  us  to  understand  that  she  was  fond  of 
Fellside  and  that  this  secluded  life  suited  her,"  said  Mary,  med- 
itatively. 

"  I  cannot  help  doubting  her  sincerity  on  that  point.  Lady 
Maulevrier  is  too  clever  a  woman,  and  forgive  me,  dear,  if  I  add 
too  worldly  a  woman,  to  be  content  to  live  out  of  the  world. 
The  bird  must  have  chafed  its  breast  against  the  bars  of  the  cage 
many  and  many  a  time,  when  you  thought  that  all  was  peace. 
Be  sure,  Mary,  that  your  grandmother  had  a  powerful  motive 
for  spending  all  her  days  in  this  place,  and  I  can  but  think  that 
the  old  man  we  saw  the  other  night  was  a  factor  in  that  motive. 
Do  you  remember  telling  me  of  her  Ladyship's  vehem.ent  anger 
when  she  heard  you  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  her  pen- 
sioner ? " 

"  Yes,  she  was  very  angry,"  Mary  answered  with  a  troubled 
look.  "  I  never  saw  her  so  angry — she  was  almost  beside  her 
self— said  the  harshest  things  to  me— talked  as  if  I  had  done 
some  dreadful  mischief." 

"  Would  she  have  been  so  moved,  do  you  think,  unless  there 
was  some  fatal  secret  mvolved  in  that  man's  presence  here  ?  " 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  365 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  think  ;  tell  me  everything.  What  is 
it  that  you  fear — what  is  it  that  you  suspect  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  my  fears  and  suspicions  is  to  tell  you  a  family 
secret  that  has  been  kept  from  you  out  of  kindness  all  the  years 
of  your  life — and  I  hardly  think  I  could  bring  myself  to  that  if  I 
did  not  know  what  the  world  is,  and  how  many  good-natured 
friends  Lady  Hartfield  will  meet  in  society  by  and  by,  ready  to 
tell  her  by  hints  and  inuendoes  that  her  grandfather,  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Madras,  came  back  to  England  under  a  cloud  of  dis- 
grace." 

*'  My  poor  grandfather  !  How  dreadful,"  exclaimed  Mary, 
pale  with  pity  and  shame.  *'  Did  he  deserve  his  disgrace,  poor 
unhappy  creature — or  was  he  the  victim  of  false  accusation  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  that,  Mary,  any  more  than  I  can  tell 
whether  Warren  Hastings  deserved  the  abuse  that  was  wreaked 
upon  him  at  one  time,  or  the  acquittal  that  gave  the  lie  to  his 
slanderers  in  after  years.  The  events  occurred  forty  years  ago — 
the  story  was  only  half  known  then,  and  like  all  such  stories 
formed  the  basis  for  every  kind  of  exaggeration  and  perver- 
sion." 

"  Does  Maulevrier  know  ?  "  faltered  Mary. 

"  Maulevrier  knows  all  that  is  known  by  the  general  public, 
and  no  more." 

"  And  you  have  married  the  granddaughter  of  a  disgraced 
man,"  said  Mary,  with  a  piteous  look.  "  Did  you  know — when 
you  married  me  .''  " 

"  As  much  as  I  know  now,  dear  love.  If  you  had  been  Jona- 
than Wild's  granddaughter  you  would  have  been  just  as  dear  to 
me.  I  married  you,  dearest ;  I  love  you,  I  believe  in  you.  All 
the  grandfathers  in  Christendom  would  not  shake  my  faith  by 
one  tittle." 

She  threw  herself  into  his  arms  and  sobbed  upon  his  breast. 
But  sweet  as  this  assurance  of  his  love  was  to  her,  she  was  not 
the  less  stricken  by  shame  at  the  thought  of  possible  infamy  in 
the  past,  a  shameful  memory  forever  brooding  over  her  name  in 
the  present. 

"  Society  never  forgets  a  scandal,"  she  said.  "  I  have  heard 
Maulevrier  say  that." 

"  Society  has  a  long  memory  for  other  people's  sins,  but  it 
only  avenges  its  own  wrongs.  Give  the  wicked  fairy.  Society,  a 
bad  dinner,  or  leave  her  out  of  your  invitation  list  for  a  ball, 
and  she  will  twit  you  with  the  crime  or  the  misfortunes  of  a  re- 
mote ancestor — she  will  go  about  talking  of  your  grandfather 
the  leper,  or  your  great  aunt  who  ran  away  with  her  footman. 


366  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

But  so  long  as  the  wicked  fairy  gets  all  she  wants  out  of  you, 
she  cares  not  a  straw  for  the  misdeeds  of  past  generations." 

He  spoke  lightly,  laughingly  almost,  and  then  he  ordered  the 
dog-cart  to  be  brought  round  immediately,  and  he  drove  Mary 
across  the  hills  toward  Langdale  to  bring  the  color  back  to  her 
blanched  cheeks.  He  brought  her  home  in  time  to  give  hev 
grandmother  an  hour  for  letter-writing  before  luncheon,  while  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  terrace  below  Lady  Maulevrier's  win- 
dows, meditating  the  course  he  was  to  take. 

He  was  to  leave  Westmoreland  next  day  to  take  his  place  in 
the  House  of  Lords  during  the  last  important  debate  of  the  ses- 
sion. He  made  up  his  mind  that  before  he  left  he  would  seek 
an  interview  with  Lady  Maulevrier,  and  boldly  ask  her  to  ex- 
plain the  mystery  of  that  old  man's  presence  at  Fellside.  He 
was  her  kinsman,  by  marriage,  and  he  had  sworn  to  honor  her 
and  to  care  for  her  as  a  son  ;  and  as  a  son  he  would  urge  her  to 
confide  in  him,  to  unburden  her  conscience  of  any  dark  secret, 
and  to  make  the  crooked  things  straight  before  she  was  called 
away. 

While  he  was  forecasting  this  interview,  meeting  imaginary  ob- 
jections, arguing  points  which  might  have  to  be  argued,  a  serv- 
ant came  out  to  him  with  an  ocher  envelope  on  a  little  silver 
tray — that  unpleasant-looking  envelope  which  seems  always  a 
presage  of  trouble,  great  or  small. 

"  Lord  Maulevrier,  Albany,  to  Lord  Hartfield,  Fellside,  Gras- 
mere. 

"  For  God's  sake,  come  to  me  at  once.  I  am  in  great  trouble, 
not  on  my  own  account,  but  about  a  relation." 

A  relation — except  his  grandmother  and  two  sisters  Maulevrier 
had  no  relation  for  whom  he  cared  a  straw.  This  message 
must  have  relation  to  Lesbia.  Was  she  ill — dying,  the  victim  of 
some  fatal  accident,  runaway  horses,  boat  upset,  train  smashed. 
There  was  something,  and  Maulevrier  appealed  to  his  nearest 
and  best  friend.  Tiiere  was  no  withstanding  such  an  appeal. 
It  must  be  answered,  and  immediately. 

Lord  Hartfield  went  into  the  library  and  wrote  his  reply  mes- 
sage, which  consisted  of  six  words  : 

"  Going  to  you  by  first  train," 

The  next  train  left  for  Windermere  at  three.  There  was  just 
time  to  get  a  fresh  horse  put  in  the  dog-cart  and  a  Gladstone 
bag  packed. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  367 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

PRIVILEGED    INFORMATION. 

Lord  Hartfield  did  not  arrive  at  Euston  Square  imtil 
nearly  eleven  o'clock  at  night.  A  hansom  deposited  him  at  the 
entrance  to  the  Albany  just  as  the  clock  on  St.  James's  Church 
chimed  the  hour.  He  found  only  Maulevrier's  valet.  His  Lord- 
ship had  waited  indoors  all  the  evening,  and  had  only  gone  out  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago.  He  had  gone  to  the  Argus,  and  had 
begged  that  Lord  Hartfield  would  be  kind  enough  to  follow  him 
there. 

Lord  Hartfield  was  not  fond  of  the  Argus,  and  indeed  deemed 
that  lively  place  of  rendezvous  a  very  dangerous  sphere  for  his 
friend  Maulevrier ;  but  in  the  face  of  Maulevrier's  telegram 
there;  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  so  he  walked  across  Piccadilly  and 
down  St.  James's  Street  to  the  fashionable  Uttle  club  in  St. 
James's  Place,  where  the  men  were  dropping  in  after  the  thea- 
ters and  dinners,  and  where  sheafs  of  bank-notes  were  being  ex- 
changed for  those  various  colored  counters  which  represented 
divers  values,  from  the  respectable  "  pony "  to  the  modest 
"  chip." 

Maulevrier  was  in  the  first  room  Hartfield  looked  into,  stand- 
ing behind  some  men  who  were  playing. 

"That's  something  like  friendship,"  he  exclaimed,  when  he 
saw  Lord  Hartfi.eld,  and  then  he  hooked  his  arm  through  his 
friend's,  and  led  him  off  to  the  dining-room. 

"  Come  and  have  some  supper,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
can  tell  you  my  troubles  while  you  are  eating  it.  James,  bring 
us  a  broil,  and  a  lobster,  and  a  bottle  of  Heidseck,  number  27, 
you  knew." 

"  Yes,  my  Lord." 

"  Sorry  to  find  you  in  this  den,  Maulevrier,"  said  Lord  Hart- 
field. 

"  Haven't  touched  a  card.  Haven't  done  half  an  hour's  punt- 
ing this  season.  But  it's  a  kind  of  habit  with  me  to  wander  in 
here  now  and  then.  I  know  so  many  of  the  members.  One 
poor  devil  lost  nine  thousand  one  night  last  week.  Rather 
rough  upon  him,  wasn't  it  ?  All  ready  money  at  this  shop,  don't 
you  know." 

"  Thank  God,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  And  now,  Maulevrier, 
what  is  wrong  and  with  whom?  " 

'•  Everything  is  wrong,  and  with  my  sister  Lesbia." 


368  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

"  Good  heavens,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  that  there  is  a  fellow  after  her  whose  very  name 
means  ruin  to  women — a  Spanish  American  adventurer — reck- 
less, handsome,  a  gambler,  seducer,  *duelist,  daredevil.  The 
man  she  is  to  marry  seems  to  have  no  spunk  to  defend  her. 
Everybody  at  Goodwood  saw  the  game  that  was  being  played, 
everybody  at  Cowes  is  watching  the  cards,  betting  on  the  result. 
Yes,' great  God,  the  men  at  the  Squadron  Club  are  staking  iheir 
money  upon  my  sister's  character — even  monkeys  that  she  bolts 
with  Montesma — five  to  two  against  the  marriage  with  Smithson 
ever  coming  off.'"' 
"  Is  this  true  ? " 

"  It  is  as  true  as  your  marriage  with  Molly,  as  true  as  your 
loyalty  to  me.  I  was  told  of  it  all  this  morning  at  the  White 
Elephant  by  a  man  I  can  rely  upon,  a  really  good  fellow,  who 
would  not  leave  me  in  the  dark  about  my  sister's  danger  when 
all  the  smoking  rooms  in  Pall  Mall  were  sniggering  about  it. 
My  first  impulse  was  to  take  the  first  train  for  Cowes  ;  but  then 
I  knew  if  I  went  alone  I  should  let  my  temper  get  the  better  of 
me.  I  should  knock  somebody  down — throw  somebody  out  of 
the  window — make  a  devil  of  a  scene.  And  this  would  be  fa- 
tal for  Lesbia.  I  wanted  your  counsel,  your  cool  head,  your 
steady  common  sense.  '  Not  a  step  forward  without  Jack,'  I 
said  to  myself,  so  I  bolted  off  and  sent  that  telegram.  It  re- 
lieved my  feelings  a  little,  but  I've  had  a  wretched  day." 

"  Waiter,  bring  me  a  Bradshaw  or  an  A.  B.  C,"  said  Lord 
Hartfield. 

He  had  eaten  nothing  but  a  biscuit  since  breakfast,  but  he 
was  ready  to  go  off  at  once,  supperless ;  if  there  were  a  train  to 
carry  him.  Unluckily  there  was  no  train.  The  mail  had 
started.     Nothing  till  five  o'clock  next  morning. 

"  Eat  your  supper,  old  fellow,"  said  Maulevrier.  "After  all, 
the  danger  may  not  be  so  desperate  as  I  fancied  this  morning. 
Slander  is  the  favorite  amusement  of  the  age  we  live  in.  We 
must  allow  a  margin  for  exaggeration." 

"  A  very  liberal  margin,"  answered  Hartfield.  "  No  doubt 
the  man  who  warned  you  meant  honestly,  but  this  scandal  may 
have  grown  out  of  the  merest  trifles.  The  feebleness  of  the 
masher's  brain  is  only  exceeded  by  the  foulness  of  the  masher's 
tongue.  I  dare  say  this  rumor  about  Lady  Lesbia  has  its  be- 
ginning and  end  among  the  masher  species." 

"  I  hope  so,  but — I  have  seen  those  two  together— I  met  them 
at  Victoria  one  evening  after  Goodwood.  Old  Kirkbank  was 
scuffling  on  ahead,  carrying   Smithson  with   her,  absorbing  his 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  369 

attention  by  fussification  about  her  carriage.  Lesbia  and  that 
Cuban  devil  M^ere  in  the  rear.  They  looked  as  if  they  had  the 
world  all  to  themselves.  Faust  and  Marguerite  in  the  garden 
were  not  in  it  for  the  expression  of  intense  absorbing  feeling, 
compared  with  those  two.  I'm  not  an  intellectual  party,  but  I 
know  something  of  human  nature,  and  I  know  when  a  man  and 
woman  are  in  love  with  each  other.  It  is  one  of  the  things  that 
never  has  been,  that  never  can  be,  hidden." 

"  And  you  say  this  Montesma  is  a  dangerous  man." 
"  Deadly." 

"  Well,  we  must  lose  no  time.  When  we  are  on  the  spot  it 
will  be  easy  to  find  out  the  truth,  and  it  will  be  your  duty,  if 
there  be  danger,  to  warn  Lesbia  and  her  future  husband." 

"  I  would  much  rather  shoot  the  Cuban,"  said  Maulevrier. 
"  I  never  knew  much  good  to  come  of  a  warning  in  such  a  case 
— it  generally  precipitates  matters.  If  I  could  play  ecarte  with 
him  at  the  club,  find  him  sporting  an  extra  king,  throw  my 
cards  in  his  face  and  accept  his  challenge  for  exchange  of  shots 
on  the  sands  beyond  Cherbourg — there  would  be  something 
like  satisfaction." 

"  You  say  the  man  is  a  gambler." 

"  Report  says  something  worse  of  him.  Report  says  he  is  a 
cheat." 

*'  We  must  not  be  dependent  upon  society  gossip,"  replied 
Lord  Hartfield.     "  I  have   an  idea,  Maulevrier.     The  more  we 
know  about  this  man — Montesma,  I  think  you  called  him — " 
"  Gomez  de  Montesma." 

*'The  more  fully  we  are  acquainted  with  Don  Gomez  de 
Montesma's  antecedents  the  better  we  shall  be  able  to  cope 
with  him  if  we  come  to  handy-grips.  It's  too  late  to  start  for 
Cowes,  but  it  is  not  too  late  to  do  something.  Fitzpatrick,  the 
political  economist,  spent  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  South  Amer- 
ica. He  is  a  very  old  friend — knew  my  father — and  I  can  ven- 
ture to  knock  at  his  door  after  midnight — all  the  more  as  I  know 
he  is  a  night  worker.  He  is  very  likely  to  enlighten  us  about 
your  Cuban  hidalgo." 

"  You  shall  finish  your  supper  before  I  let  you  stir.  After 
that  you  may  do  what  you  like.  I  was  always  a  child  in  your 
hands,  Jack,  whether  I  was  climbing  a  mountain  or  crossing  the 
Horse  Shoe  Fall.  I  consider  the  business  in  your  hands  now. 
I'll  go  with  you  wherever  you  like,  and  do  what  you  tell  me. 
Whan  you  want  me  to  kick  anybody,  or  fight  anybody,  you  can 
give  me  the  office  and  I'll  do  it.  I  know  that  Lesbia's  interests 
are  safe  in  your  hands.  You  on*"'"  cared  very  much  for  her. 
24 


370  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

You  are  her  brother-in-law  now,  and,  next  to  me,  you  are  her 
natural  protector,  taking  into  account  that  her  future  husband 
is  a  cad  and  doesn't  score." 

"  Meet  me  at  Waterloo  at  five  o'clock  to-morrow  morning, 
and  we'll  go  down  to  Cowes  together.  I'm  off  to  find  Fitzpat- 
rick.     Good-night ! " 

So  they  parted.  Lord  Hartfield  walked  across  the  Park  to 
Great  George  Street,  where  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  had  chambers  of  a 
semi-official  character  on  the  first  floor  of  a  solemn-looking  old 
house,  spacious,  gloomy  without  and  within,  walls  somber  with 
the  subdued  coloring  of  decorations  half  a  century  old. 

The  lighted  windows  of  those  first  floor  rooms  told  Lord 
Hartfield  that  he  was  not  too  late.  He  rang  the  bell,  which 
was  answered  with  the  briefest  delay  by  a  sleepy-looking  clerk, 
who  had  been  taking  shorthand  notes  for  Mr.  Fitzpatrick's 
great  book  on  Protection  versus  Free  Trade.  The  clerk  looked 
sleepy,  but  his  employer  had  as  brisk  an  air  as  if  he  were  just 
beginning  the  day,  although  he  had  been  workmg  without  inter- 
mission since  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  and  had  done  a  long 
day's  work  before  dinner.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
large  unluxurious  room,  half  office,  half  library,  smoking  a  cigar. 
Upon  a  large  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  two  power- 
ful reading  lamps  with  green  shades,  illuminating  a  chaotic 
mass  of  books,  heaped  and  scattered  all  oyer  the  table,  save 
just  on  that  spot  between  the  two  lamps  which  accommodated 
Mr.  Fitzpatrick's  blotting-pad  and  inkpot,  a  pewter  inkpot  which 
held  about  a  pint. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Hartfield  ?  Glad  you've  looked  me  up  at  last," 
said  the  Irishman,  as  if  a  midnight  call  were  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world.     "  Just  come  from  the  House  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I've  just  come" from  Westmoreland.  I  thought  I  should 
find  you  among  those  everlasting  books  ^ of  yours,  late  as  it  is. 
Can  I  have  a  few  words  alone  with  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  Morgan,  you  can  go  away  for  a  bit." 

"  Home,  sir  ?  "■ 

"  Home— well,  yes,  I  suppose  it's  late.  You  look  sleepy.  I 
should  have  been  glad  to  finish  the  chapter  on  beet-root  sugar 
to-night,  but  it  may  stand  over  for  the  morning.  Be  sure  you're 
early." 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  clerk  responded  with  a  faint  sigh. 

He  was  paid  handsomely  for  late  hours,  liberally  rewarded 
■for  his  shorthand  services  ;  and  yet  he  wished  the  great  Fitz- 
patrick had  not  been  quite  so  industrious. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Hartfield,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  asked 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  371 

Fitzpatrick,  when  the  clerk  had  gone.  "  I  can  see  by  your 
face  that  you've  something  serious  in  hand.  Can  I  help 
you?" 

"  You  can,  I  believe,  in  a  very  material  wa}-.  You  were  five 
and  twenty  years  in  Spanish  America  ?  " 

''  Rather  more  than  less." 

"  Here,  there  and  everywhere." 

"  Yes,  there  is  not  a  city  in  South  America  that  I  have  not 
lived  in — for  something  between  a  day  and  a  year." 

"  You  know  something  about  most  men  of  any  mark  in  that 
part  of  the  world,  I  conclude  ?  " 

"  It  was  my  mission  to  know  men  of  all  kinds.  I  had  my  mis- 
sion from  the  Spanish  government.  I  was  engaged  to  examine 
the  condition  of  commerce  throughout  the  colony,  the  working  of 
protection  as  against  free  trade,  and  so  on.  Strange,  by  the  bye, 
that  Cuba,  the  last  place  to  foster  the  slave-trade,  was  of  all 
spots  of  the  earth  the  first  to  carry  free-trade  principles  into 
practical  effect,  long  before  they  were  recognized  in  any  Euro- 
pean country." 

"  Strange  to  me  that  you  should  speak  of  Cuba  so  soon  after 
my  coming  in,"  answered  Lord  Hartfield.  "  I  am  here  to  ask 
you  to  help  me  to  find  out  the  antecedents  of  a  man  who  hails 
from  that  island." 

"  I  ought  to  know  something  about  him,  whoever  he  is,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Fitzpatrick  briskly.  "  I  spent  six  months  in  Cuba 
not  very  long  before  my  return  to  England.  Cuba  is  one  of  my 
freshest  memories,  and  I  have  a  pretty  tight  memory  for  facts, 
names  and  figures.  Never  could  remember  two  lines  of  poetry 
in  my  life." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  or  meet  with  a  man  called  Montesma 
— Gomez  de  Montesma  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  have  stopped  a  month  in  Havana  without  hearing 
something  about  that  gentleman,"  answered  Fitzpatrick.  "  I 
hope  he  isn't  a  friend  of  yours  and  that  you  have  not  lent  him 
money?" 

"  Neither ;  but  I  want  to  know  all  you  can  tell  me  about 
him." 

"  You  shall  have  it  in  black  and  white  out  of  my  Cuban  note- 
book," replied  the  other,  unlocking  a  drawer  in  the  ponderous 
official  table.  "  I  always  take  notes  of  anything  worth  record- 
ing on  the  spot.  A  man  is  a  fool  who  trusts  to  memory  where 
personal  character  is  at  stake.  Montesma  is  as  well  known  at 
Havana  as  the  Morso  Fort  or  the  Tacon  Theater.  I  have  heard 
stories  enough  about  him  to  fill  a  big  volume ;  but  all  the  facts 


372  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

recorded  there,"  striking  the  morocco,  cover  of  the  note-book, 
"  have  been  thoroughly  sifted.     I  can  vouch  for  them." 

He  looked  at  the  index,  found  the  page,  and  handed  the  book 
to  Lord  Hartfield. 

"  Read  for  yourself,"  he  said  quietly. 

Lord  Hartfield  read  three  or  four  pages  of  plain  statements  as 
to  the  various  adventures  by  sea  and  land  in  which  Gomez  de 
Montesma  had  figured,  and  the  reputation  which  he  bore  in 
Cuba  and  on  the  Main. 

"You  can  vouch  for  that,"  he  said  at  last,  after  a  long  silence. 

*'  For  every  syllable." 

"  The  story  of  his  marriage  ?  " 

*'  Gospel  truth — I  knew  the  lady." 

"  And  the  rest  ?  " 

"  All  true." 

"  A  thousand  thanks.  I  know  now  upon  what  ground  I  stand. 
I  have  to  save  an  innocent,  high-bred  girl  from  the  clutches  of 
a  consummate  scoundrel." 

"  Shoot  him,  and  shoot  her  too,  if  there's  no  better  way  of 
saving  her.  It  will  be  an  act  of  mercy,"  said  Mr.  Fitzpatrick, 
without  hesitation. 


CHAPTER  XLH. 

"  SHALL    IT    BE  ?  " 

While  Lord  Hartfield  sat  in  his  friend's  office  in  Great  George 
Street  reading  the  life  story  of  Gomez  de  Montesma,  told  with 
the  cruel  precision  and  the  unvarnished  language  of  a  criminal 
indictment,  the  hero  of  that  history  was  gliding  round  the  spa- 
cious ball-room  of  the  Cowes  Club,  with  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden's 
dark  brown  head  almost  reclining  on  his  shoulder,  her  violet 
eyes  looking  up  at  his  every  now  and  then  shyly,  entrancingly, 
as  he  bent  his  head  to  talk  to  her. 

The  squadron  ball  was  in  full  swing  between  midnight  and 
the  first  hour  of  the  morning.  The  flowers  had  not  lost  their 
freshness,  the  odors  of  dust  and  feverish  human  breath  had  not 
yet  polluted  the  atmosphere.  The  windows  were  open  to  the 
purple  night,  the  purple  sea.  The  stars  seemed  to  be  close 
outside  the  veranda,  shining  on  purpose  for  the  dancers  ;  and 
these  two — the  man  tall,  pale,  dark,  with  flashing  eyes  and  short, 
sleek,  raven  hair,  small  head,  noble  bearing ;  the  girl  divinely 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  373 

lovely  in  her  marble  purity  of  complexion,  her  classical  grace  of 
form — these  two  were,  as  every  one  avowed  and  acknowledged, 
the  handsomest  couple  in  the  room. 

"  We're  none  of  us  in  it  compared  with  them,"  said  a  young 
naval  commander  to  his  partner,  whereupon  the  young  lady 
looked  somewhat  sourly,  and  replied  that  Lady  Lesbia's  feat- 
ures were  undeniably  regular  and  her  complexion  good,  but 
that  she  was  wanting  in  soul. 

"  Is  she  t  "  asked  the  sailor,  incredulously.  "  Look  at  her 
now.     What  do  you  call  that,  if  it  isn't  soul  ?  " 

"  I  call  it  simply  disgraceful,"  answered  his  partner,  sharply 
turning  away  her  head. 

Lesbia  was  looking  up  at  the  Spaniard,  her  lips  faintly  parted, 
all  her  face  listening  eagerly  as  she  caught  some  whispered  word, 
breathed  among  the  soft  ripples  of  her  hair  from  lips  that  almost 
touched  her  brow.  People  cannot  go  on  waltzing  for  ten  min- 
utes in  a  dead  silence,  like  automatic  dancers.  There  must  be 
conversation.  Only  it  is  better  that  the  hps  should  do  most  of 
the  talking.  When  the  eyes  have  so  much  to  say  society  is  apt 
to  be  censorious. 

Mr.  Smithson  was  smoking  a  cigarette  on  the  lawn  with  an- 
other city  magnate.  A  man  to  whom  tobacco  is  a  necessity  can- 
not always  be  on  his  guard  ;  but  it  is  quite  possible  that  in  the 
present  state  of  Lady  Lesbia's  feelings  Smithson  would  have 
had  no  restraining  influence  had  he  been  ever  so  watchful.  To 
what  act  in  the  passion-drama  had  her  love  come  to-night  as 
she  floated  round  the  room,  with  her  head  inclined  toward  her 
lover's  breast,  the  strong  pulsation  of  his  heart  sounding  in  her 
ear  like  the  rhythmical  beat  of  the  basses  yonder  in  society's 
last  favorite  waltz  t  Was  there  still  the  uncertainty  as  to  the 
denouement  which  marks  the  third  act  of  a  good  play,  or  was 
there  the  dread  foreboding,  the  sense  of  impending  doom  which 
should  stir  the  spectators  with  pity  and  terror  as  the  fourth  act 
hurries  to  its  passionate  close  ?  Who  could  tell }  She  had  been 
full  of  life  and  energy  on  board  the  yacht  during  the  racing,  in 
which  she  seemed  to  take  an  ardent  interest.  The  Cayman  had 
followed  the  racers  for  three  hours  through  a  freshening  sea, 
much  to  Lady  Kirkbank's  disgust,  and  Lesbia  had  been  the  soul 
of  the  party.  The  same  yesterday.  The  yacht  had  only  got 
back  to  Cowes  in  time  for  the  ball,  and  all  had  been  hurry  and 
excitement  while  the  ladies  dressed,  and  crossed  to  the  club, 
the  spray  dashing  over  their  opera  mantles,  poor  Lady  Kirk- 
bank's complexion  yellow  with  mal  de  mer,  in  spite  of  a  double 
coating  of  Blanc  de  Fedora,  the  last  fashionable  cosmetic. 


374  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

To-night  Lesbia  was  curiously  silent,  depressed  even,  as  it 
seemed  to  those  who  were  interested  in  observing  her,  and  all 
the  world  is  interested  in  a  famous  beauty.  She  was  very  pale, 
her  lips  even  colorless,  and  the  large  violet  eyes  and  the  firmly 
penciled  brows  above  gave  color  in  her  face.  She  looked  like 
a  marble  statue,  the  eyes  and  eyebrows  accentuated  with  exper- 
imental touches  of  color.  Those  lovely  eyes  had  a  heavy  look, 
as  of  trouble,  weariness,  nay,  absolute  distress. 

Never  had  she  looked  less  brilliant  than  to-night,  never  had 
she  looked  more  beautiful.  It  was  the  loveliness  of  a  newly 
awakened  soul.  The  wonderful  Pandora  casket  of  life,  with  its 
infinite  evil,  its  little  good,  had  given  up  its  secret.  She  knew 
what  passionate  love  really  meant.  She  knew  what  such  love 
mostly  means — self-sacrifice,  surrender  of  the  world's  wealth,  sev- 
erance from  friends,  the  breaking  of  all  old  ties.  To  love  as 
she  loved  means  the  crossing  of  a  river  more  fatal  than  the  Ru- 
bicon, the  casting  of  a  die  more  desperate  than  that  which  Caesar 
flung  upon  the  board  when  he  took  up  arms  against  the  Republic. 

The  river  was  not  yet  crossed,  but  her  feet  were  on  the  mar- 
gin, wet  with  the  ripple  of  the  stream.  The  fatal  die  was  not 
yet  cast,  but  the  dice-box  was  in  her  hand  ready  for  the  throw. 

They  danced  together — not  too  often,  three  waltzes  out  of 
sixteen — but  when  they  were  so  waltzing  they  were  the  cynosure 
of  the  room.  That  betting  of  which  Maulevrier  had  heard  was 
rife  to-night,  and  the  odds  upon  the  Cuban  had  gone  up.  It 
was  nine  to  four  that  those  two  would  be  over  the  border  before 
the  week  was  out. 

Mr.  Smithson  was  not  neglectful  of  his  affianced.  He  took 
her  into  the  supper  room,  where  she  drank  some  Moselle  cup, 
but  eat  nothing.  He  sat  out  three  or  four  waltzes  with  her  on 
the  lawn,  listening  to  the  murmur  of  the  sea,  and  talking  very 
little. 

"  You  are  looking  wretched  ill  to-night,  Lesbia,"  he  said,  after 
a  dismal  silence. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  should  put  you  to  shame  by  my  bad  looks," 
she  answered,  with  that  keen  acidity  of  tone  which  indicates  ir- 
ritated nerves. 

"  You  know  that  I  don't  mean  that ;  you  are  always  lovely, 
always  the  loveliest  everywhere ;  but  I  don't  like  to  see  you  so 
ghastly  pale." 

"  I  suppose  I  am  over-fatigued,  that  I  have  done  too  much  in 
London  and  here.  Life  in  Westmoreland  was  very  different," 
she  added,  with  a  sigh,  and  a  touch  of  wonder  that  the  Lesbia 
Haselden,  whose  methodical  life  had  never  been  stirred  by  a 


PHAMTOM  FORTUNE.  375 

ruffle  of  passion,  could  have  been  the  same  flesh  and  blood — yes, 
verily,  the  same  woman,  whose  heart  throbbed  so  vehemently 
to-night,  whose  brain  seemed  on  lire. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  is  nothing  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  with 
a  faint  quiver  of  the  voice. 

''  What  should  there  be  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Who  can  say  ?  God  knows  that  I  know  no  cause  for  evil.  I 
am  honest  enough  and  faithful  enough,  Lesbia.  But  your  face 
to-night  is  like  a  presage  of  calamity,  like  the  dull,  livid  sky  that 
goes  before  a  thunderstorm." 

"  I  hope  there  is  no  thunderbolt  coming,"  she  answered  lightly. 
"  What  very  tall  talk  about  a  headache,  for  really  that  is  all 
that  ails  me.  Hark,  they  have  begun  '  My  Queen.'  I  am  en- 
gaged for  this  waltz." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that." 

"  So  am  I.     I  would  much  rather  have  stayed  out  here." 

Two  hours  later,  in  the  steely  morning  light,  when  sea  and 
land  and  sky  had  a  metallic  look  as  if  lit  by  electricity,  Lady 
Lesbia  stood  with  her  chaperon  and  her  affianced  husband  on 
the  landing  stage  belonging  to  the  club,  ready  to  step  into  the  boat 
in  which  three  swarthy  seamen  in  red  shirts  and  caps  were  to 
row  them  back  to  the  yacht.  Mr.  Smithson  drew  the  warm  sor- 
tie de  bal,  with  its  gold-colored  satin  hning  and  white-fox  bor- 
der, closer  round  Lesbia's  slender  form. 

"  You  are  shivering,"  he  said ;  "  you  ought  to  have  warmer 
wraps." 

"  This  is  warm  enough  for  St.  Petersburg.  I  am  only  tired 
— very  tired." 

"  The  Cayman  will  rock  you  to  sleep." 

Don  Gomez  was  standing  close  by,  waiting  for  his  host. 
The  two  men  were  to  walk  up  the  hill  to  Formosa,  a  villa  with 
a  classic  portico,  delightfully  situated  above  the  town. 

"  What  time  are  we  to  come  to  breakfast  ? "  asked  Mr.  Smith- 
son. 

"Not  too  early,  in  mercy's  name.  Two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon, three,  four — why  not  make  it  five,  combine  breakfast 
with  afternoon  tea,"  exclaimed  Lady  Kirkbank,  with  a  tremen- 
dous yawn.  "  I  never  was  so  thoroughly  fagged.  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  been  beaten  with  sticks,  basti— what's  its  name  ? " 

She  was  leaning  all  her  weight  upon  Mr.  Smithson  as  he 
handed  her  down  the  steps  and  into  the  boat.  Her  normal  weight 
was  not  a  trifle,  and  this  morning  she  was  heavy  with  champagne 
and  sleep.  Carefully  as  Smithson  supported  her,  she  gave  a 
lurch  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps  and  plunged  ponderously  into 


376  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

the  boat,  which  dipped  and  careened  under  her,  whereat  she 
shrieked  and  implored  Mr.  Smithson  to  save  her. 

All  this  occupied  some  minutes,  and  gave  Lesbia  and  the 
Cuban  just  time  for  a  few  words  that  had  to  be  said  somehow. 

"Good-night,"  said  Montesma  as  they  clasped  hands,  "good- 
night," and  then  in  a  lower  voice  he  said,  "  Well,  have  you  de- 
cided at  last  t     Shall  it  be  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  or  so,  pale  in  the  starlight, 
and  then  murmured  an  almost  inaudible  syllable — 

"  Y^s." 

He  bent  quickly  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  her  gloved  hand, 
and  when  Mr.  Smithson  looked  round  they  two  were  standing 
apart,  Montesma  in  a  listless  attitude,  as  if  tired  of  waiting  for 
his  host. 

It  was  Smithson  who  handed  Lesbia  into  the  boat  and  ar- 
ranged her  wraps,  and  hung  over  her  tenderly  as  he  performed 
those  small  offices. 

"  Now,  really,"  he  asked,  just  before  the  boat  put  off,  "  when 
are  we  to  be  with  you  to-morrow  t  " 

"Lady  Kirkbank  says  not  till  afternoon  tea,  but  I  think  you 
may  come  a  few  hours  earlier.     I  am  not  at  all  sleepy." 

"  You  look  as  if  you  needed  sleep  badly,"  answered  Smith- 
son.  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  half  careful  enough  of  yourself. 
Good-night !  " 

The  boat  was  gliding  off,  the  oars  dipping  as  he  spoke.  How 
swiftly  it  shot  from  his  ken,  flashing  in  and  out  among  the 
yachts,  where  the  lamps  were  burning  dimly  in  that  clear  radiance 
of  new  bornday. 

Montesma  gave  a  tremendous  yawn  as  he  took  out  his  cigar- 
case,  and  he  and  Mr.  Smithson  did  not  say  twenty  words  be- 
tween them  during  the  walk  to  Formosa,  where  servants  were 
sitting  up,  lamps  burning,  a  great  silver  tray  with  brandy,  soda, 
liqueurs,  coffee  in  readiness. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
"alas,  for  sorrow  is  all  the  end  of  this." 

Lady  Kirkbank  retired  to  her  cabin  directly  she  got  on  board 
the  Cayman. 

"Good-night,  child!  I  am  more  than  half  asleep,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  think  if  there  were  to  be  an  earthquake  an  hour  hence 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  377 

I  should  hardly  hear  it.  Go  to  your  berth  directly,  Le^hia  ;  you 
look  positively  awful.  I  have  seen  girls  look  bad  after  balls  be- 
fore now,  but  I  never  saw  such  a  specter  as  you  look  this  morn- 
ing." 

Poor  Georgie's  own  complexion  left  something  to  be  desired. 
The  Blanc  de  Fedora  had  been  a  brilliant  success  for  the  first 
two  hours  ;  after  that  the  warm  room  began  to  tell  upon  it,  and 
there  came  a  greasiness,  then  a  streakiness,  and  now  all  that 
was  left  of  an  alabaster  skin  was  a  livid  patch  of  purplish  paint 
here  and  there  upon  a  crowsfoot  ground.  The  eyebrows,  too, 
had  given  in,  and  narrow  lines  of  Vandyke  brown  meandered 
down  Lady  Kirkbank's  cheeks.  The  frizzy  hair  had  gone  alto- 
gether wrong,  and  had  a  wild  look,  suggestive  of  the  witches  in 
Macbeth,  and  the  scraggy  neck  and  poor  old  shoulders  showed 
every  year  of  their  age  in  the  ghastly  morning  light. 

Lesbia  waited  in  the  saloon  till  Lady  Kirkbank  had  bolted 
herself  into  her  cabin,  and  then  she  went  up  to  the  deck 
wrapped  in  her  satin-lined,  fur-bordered  cloak,  and  coiled  her- 
self up  in  a  bamboo  arm-chair,  and  nestled  her  bare  head  into  a 
Turkish  pillow,  and  tried  to  sleep  there,  with  the  cool  morning 
breeze  blowing  upon  her  burning  forehead  and  the  plish-plash 
of  sea  water  soothing  her  ear. 

There  were  only  three  or  four  sailors  on  deck,  weird,  almost 
diabolical-looking  creatures,  Lesbia  thought,  in  striped  shirts, 
with  bare  arms  of  a  smning  bronze  complexion,  flashing  black 
eyes,  sleek  raven  hair,  a  sinister  look.  What  species  of  men 
they  were,  Meztizoes,  Coolies,  Yucatekes,  she  knew  not,  but  she 
felt  that  they  were  something  wild  and  strange,  and  their  pres- 
ence filled  her  with  a  vague  fear.  He.  whose  influence  now 
ruled  her  life,  had  told  her  that  these  men  were  born  mariners, 
and  that  she  was  twenty  times  safer  with  them  than  when  the 
yacht  had  been  under  the  control  of  those  honest,  grinning,  red- 
whiskered  English  Jack  Tars.  But  she  liked  the  English  sailors 
best,  all  the  same,  and  she  shrank  from  the  faintest  contact  with 
these  tawny-visaged  strangers,  plucking  away  the  train  of  her 
gov/n  as  they  passed  her  chair,  lest  they  should  brush  against 
her  drapery,^ 

On  deck  this  morning,  with  only  those  dark  faces  near,  she 
had  a  sense  of  loneliness,  of  helplessness,  of  abancTonlnent  even? 
Unbidden  the  image  of  her  home  at  Grasmere  flashed  into  her 
mind— all  things  so  calm,  so  perfectly  ordered,  such  a  sense  of 
safety,  of  home — no  peril,  no  temptation,  no  fever;  only  peace, 
and  she  had  grown  sick  to  death  of  peace.  She  had  prayed  for 
tempest,  and  the  tempest  had  come. 


378  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

There  was  a  neavenly  quiet  in  the  air  in  the  early  summer 
morning,  only  the  creaking  of  a  spar,  the  scream  of  a  seagull 
now  and  then.  How  pale  the  lamps  were  growing  on  board  the 
yachts.  Paler  still,  yellow,  and  dim  and  blurred  yonder  in  the 
town.  The  eastward  facing  windows  were  golden  with  the  ris- 
ing sun.  Yes,  this  was  morning.  The  yachts  were  moving  away 
yonder,  majestical,  swan-like,  white  sails  shining  against  the 
blue. 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep  ;  but  sleep  would  not 
come.  She  was  always  listening — listening  for  the  dip  of  oars, 
listening  for  a  snatch  of  melody  from  a  mellow  baritone  whose 
every  accent  she  knew  so  well. 

It  came  at  last,  the  sound  her  soul  longed  for.  She  lay  among 
her  cushions  with  closed  eyes,  listening,  drinking  in  those  rich 
ripe  notes  as  they  came  nearer  and  nearer,  to  the  measure  of 
dipping  oars, 

*'  La  donna  e  mobile — " 

Nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  little  boat  ground  against  the 
hull.  She  lifted  her  heavy  eyelids  as  Montesma  leapt  over  the 
gunwale,  almost  into  her  arms.  He  was  at  her  side,  kneeling 
by  her  low  chair,  kissing  the  little  hands,  chill  with  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  morning. 

"  My  own,  my  very  own,"  he  murmured  passionateh^ 

He  cared  no  more  for  those  copper-faced  Helots  yonder  than 
if  they  had  been  made  of  wood.  He  had  fate  m  his  own  hands 
now,  as  it  seemed  to  him.  He  went  to  the  skipper  and  gave 
him  some  orders  in  Spanish,  and  then  the  sails  were  unfurled, 
the  Cayman  spread  her  broad  white  wings  and  went  off  among 
those  other  yachts  which  were  gliding,  gliding,  gliding  out  to 
sea,  melting  from  Cowes  Roads  like  a  vision  that  fadeth  with  the 
broad  light  of  morning. 

When  the  sails  were  up  and  the  yacht  was  running  merrily 
through  the  water,  Montesma  went  back  to  Lady  Lesbia  and 
they  sat  side  by  side,  gilded  and  glorified  in  the  vivid  lights  of 
sunrise,  talking  as  they  had  never  talked  before,  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  a  smile  of  ineffable  peace  upon  her  lips,  as  of  a 
weary  child  that  has  found  rest. 

They  were  sailing  for  Havre,  and  at  Havre  they  were  to  be 
married  by  the  English  chaplain,  and  from  Havre  they  were  to 
sail  for  Havana  and  live  there  ever  afterward  in  a  fairy-tale 
dream  of  bliss,  broken  only  by  an  annual  visit  to  Paris,  just 
to  buy  gowns  and  bonnets.  Surrendered  were  all  Lesbia's  am- 
bitious hopes — forgotten — gone  her  desire  to  reign  princess  paiF 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  379 

amount  in  the  kingdom  of  fashion — her  thirst  to  be  wealthiest 
among  the  we  Ithy — gone — forgotten.  Her  dreams  now  were 
of  tlie  dolce  f-.r  niente  of  a  tropical  climate,  cigarettes,  coffee, 
nights  spent  in  a  foreign  opera  house,  the  languid  reposeful  life 
of  a  Spanish  dona — with  him.  For  his  sake  that  she  had  modi- 
fied all  her  ideas  of  life.  With  him  she  would  have  been  content 
to  dwell  in  the  tents  of  the  Patagonians  on  the  wild  and  snow- 
clad  Pampas.  A  love  which  was  strong  enough  to  make  her 
sacrifice  duty,  the  world,  her  fair  fame  as  a  well-bred  woman, 
was  a  love  that  recked  but  little  of  the  paths  along  which  her 
lover's  hand  was  to  lead  her.  For  him,  to  be  with  him,  she  re- 
nounced the  world.     The  rest  did  not  count. 

The  summer  hours  glided  past  them.  The  Cayman  was  far 
out  at  sea  ;  all  the  other  yachts  had  vanished  and  they  were  alone 
amidst  the  blue,  with  only  a  solitary  three-master  yonder,  on  the 
edge  of  the  horizon.  More  than  once  Lesbia  had  talked  of  go- 
ing below  to  change  her  ball  gown  for  the  attire  of  everyday  life, 
but  each  time  her  lover  had  detained  her  a  little  longer,  a  few 
more  words.  Lady  Kirkbank  would  be  astir  presently  and  there 
would  be  no  more  solitude  for  them  till  they  were  married  and 
could  shake  her  off  altogether.  So  Lesbia  stayed,  and  those  two 
drank  the  cup  of  bliss,  hushed  by  the  monotonous  sing  song  of 
the  sea,  the  rhythm  of  the  swinging  sails.  But  now  it  was  broad 
morning.  The  hour  w^hen  society,  however  late  it  may  keep  its 
revels  over  night,  is  apt  to  awaken,  were  it  only  to  call  for  a 
strong  cup  of  tea  and  to  turn  again  on  the  pillow  of  lassitude 
after  that  refreshment,  like  the  sluggard  of  the  Holy  Writ.  At 
ten  o'clock  the  sun  sent  his  golden  arrows  across  the  silken  cov- 
erlet of  her  berth  and  awakened  Lady  Kirkbank,  who  opened 
her  eyes  and  looked  about  languidly.  The  little  cabin  was  heav- 
ing itself  up  and  down  in  a  curious  way.  Mr.  Smithson's  cigar 
cases  sloping  now  and  then  as  if  they  were  going  to  fall  upon 
Lady  Kirkbank's  CQuch,  and  the  looking-glass,  with  all  its 
dainty  appliances,  making  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees.  There 
was  more  swirling  and  washing  of  water  against  the  hull  than 
ever  Georgie  Kirkbank  had  heard  in  Cowes  Roads. 

"  Mercy  on  me,  this  horrid  thing  must  be  moving,"  she  ex- 
claimed to  the  empty  air.  "  It  must  have  broken  loose  in  the 
night." 

She  had  no  confidence  in  those  savage  looking  sailors,  and 
she  had  a  vision  of  the  yacht  drifting  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and 
waves,  drifting  for  days,  weeks  and  months  ,  drifting  to  the 
German  Ocean,  drifting  to  the  North  Pole.     Mr.  Smithson  and 


38o  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

Montesma  on  shore — no  one  on  board  to  exercise  authority 
over  those  fearful  men. 

Perhaps  they  had  mutinied  and  were  carrying  off  the  yacht  as 
their  booty,  with  Lesbia  and  her  chaperon,  and  all  their  gowns. 

"  I  am  almost  glad  that  harpy  Seraphine  has  my  diamonds,'' 
thought  poor  Georgie,  "  or  I  should  have  had  them  with  me  on 
board  this  hateful  boat." 

And  then  she  rapped  vehemently  against  the  panel  of  the 
cabin,  and  screamed  for  Rilboche,  wdiose  den  was  adjacent. 

Rilboche,  who  detested  the  sea,  made  her  appearance  after 
some  delay,  looking  even  greener  than  her  mistress,  who,  in  ris- 
ing from  her  berth,  already  began  to  suffer  the  agonies  of  sea- 
sickness. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  And 
where  are  we  going  ? " 

"  That's  what  I  should  like  to  know,  my  Lady.  But  I  dare 
say  Lady  Lesbia  and  Mr.  Montesma  can  tell  you.  They  are 
both  on  deck." 

"  Montesma  ?     Why,  we  left  him  on  shore." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,  but  he  came  on  board  at  five  o'clock  this 
morning.  I  looked  at  my  v/atch  when  I  heard  him  land,  and  he 
and  Lady  Lesbia  have  been  sitting  on  deck  ever  since." 

"  And  now  it  is  ten.     Five  hours  on  deck — impossible." 

"Time  doesn't  seem  long  when  one  is  happy,  my  Lady,"  mur- 
mured Rilboche,  in  her  own  language. 

"Help  me  to  dress  this  instant,"  screamed  her  mistress, 
"  that  dreadful  Spaniard  is  eloping  with  us." 

Despite  the  hideous  depression  of  that  malady  which  strikes 
down  kasier  and  beggar  wdth  the  same  rough  hand,  Lady  Kirk- 
bank contrived  to  get  herself  dressed  decently,  and  to  stagger 
up  the  companion  to  that  part  of  the  deck  where  the  Persian 
carpet  was  spread  and  the  bamboo  chairs  and  tables  w^ere  set 
out  under  the  striped  awning.  Lesbia  and  her  lover  were  sitting 
together,  he  giving  her  a  first  lesson  in  the  art  of  smoking  a  cig- 
arette. He  had  told  her  playfully  that  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  Cuba  was  a  smoker,  and  she  had  besought  him  to  let 
her  begin,  and  now,  with  infinite  coquetry,  was  taking  her  first 
lesson. 

"  You  shameless  minx,"  exclaimed  Georgie,  pale  with  anger. 
"  Where  is  Smithson — my  poor,  good  Smithson." 

"  Fast  asleep  in  his  bed  at  Formosa,  I  hope,  dear  Lady  Kirk- 
bank/' the  Cuban  answered  wdth  perfect  sang  froid.  "  Smithson 
is  out  of  it,  as  you  idiomatic  English  say.  I  hope.  Lady  Kirk- 
bank, you  will  be  as  kind  to  me  as  you  have  been  to  Smithson, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  381 

«ind  depend  upon  it  I  shall  make  Lady  Lesbia  as  good  a  husband 
as  ever  Sniithson  could  have  done." 

"  You  ! "  exclaimed  the  matron  contemptuously.  "  You  !  A 
foreigner,  an  adventurer,  who  may  be  as  poor  as  Job  for  any- 
thing I  know  about  you." 

"Job  was  once  rather  comfortably  off.  Lady  Kirkbank;  and 
I  can  answer  for  it  that  Montesma's  wife  will  know  none  of  die 
pangs  of  poverty." 

"  If  you  were  a  beggar  I  would  not  care,"  said  Lesbia,  drawing 
near  to  him. 

They  had  both  risen  at  Lady  Kirkbank's  approach,  and  were 
standing  side  by  side,  confronting  her.  Lesbia  had  shrunk 
from  the  idea  of  poverty  with  John  Hammond ;  yet,  for  this 
man's  sake,  she  was  ready  to  face  penury,  ruin,  disgrace,  any- 
thing. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Lord  Maulevrier's  sister,  a 
young  lady  under  my  charge,  answerable  to  me  for  her  conduct, 
is  capable  of  jilting  the  man  to  whom  she  has  solemnly  bound 
herself  in  order  to  marry  you  1  "  demanded  Lady  Kirkbank, 
turning  to  Montesma. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  am  going  to  do,"  answered  Lesbia  boldly, 
'"  It  would  be  a  greater  sin  to  keep  my  promise  than  to  break  it. 
I  never  liked  that  man,  and  you  know  it.  You  badgered  me 
into  accepting  him  against  my  own  better  judgment.  You 
drifted  me  so  deeply  into  debt  that  I  was  willing  to  marry  a 
man  I  loathed  in  order  to  get  my  debts  paid.  This  is  what  you 
did  for  the  girl  placed  under  your  charge.  But,  thank  God,  I 
have  released  myself  from  your  clutches.  I  am  going  far  away 
to  a  new  world,  where  the  memory  of  my  old  life  cannot  follow 
me.  People  may  be  angry  or  pleased.  I  do  not  care.  I  shall 
be  the  wife  of  a  man  I  have  chosen  out  of  all  the  worlc?  for  my 
husband — the  man  God  made  to  be  my  master." 

"You  are — "  gasped  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  I  can't  say  what  you 
are.  I  never  in  my  life  felt  so  tempted  to  use  improper  lan- 
guage." 

"Dear  Lady  Kirkbank,  be  reasonable,"  pleaded  Montesma. 
"  You  can  have  no  interest  in  seeing  Lesbia  married  to  a  man 
she  dislikes." 

Georgie  reddened  a  little,  remembering  that  she  was  inter- 
ested to  the  amount  of  some  thousands  in  the  Smithson  and 
Haselden  alliance,  but  she  took  a  higher  ground  than  mercenary 
considerations. 

"  I  am  interested  in  doing  the  very  best  for  a  young  lady  who 
;has  been  intrusted  to  my  care,  the  granddaughter  of  an  old 


382  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

friend,"  she  answered  with  dignity.  "  I  have  no  objection  to 
you  in  the  abstract,  Don  Gomez.  You  have  always  been  vastly 
civil,  I  am  sure — " 

"  Stand  by  us  in  our  day  of  need.  Lady  Kirkbank,  and  you 
will  find  me  the  stanchest  friend  you  ever  had." 

"  I  am  bound  in  honor  to  consider  Mr.  Smithson,  Lesbia," 
said  Lady  Kirkbank.  "  I  wonder  that  a  decently  brought  up 
girl  can  behave  so  abominably." 

"  It  would  be  more  abominable  to  marry  a  man  I  detest.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.  Lady  Kirkbank.  We  shall  be  at 
Havre  to-morrow  morning,  and  we  shall  be  married  to-morrow, 
shall  we  not,  Gomez  ? " 

She  let  her  head  sink  upon  his  breast  and  his  arm  enfold  her. 
Thus  sheltered,  she  felt  safe,  thus  and  thus  only.  She  had 
thrown  her  cap  over  the  mills,  snapped  her  fingers  at  society, 
cared  not  a  jot  what  the  world  might  think  or  say  of  her.  This 
man  would  she  marry  and  no  other ;  this  man's  fortunes  would 
she  follow  for  good  or  evil.  He  had  that  kind  of  influence  with 
women  which  is  almost  "  possession."     It  smells  of  brimstone. 

"  Come,  my  dear  good  soul,"  said  Montesma,  smiling  at  the 
angry  matron.  "  Why  not  take  things  quietly.  You  have  had 
a  good  m.any  girls  under  your  wing,  and  you  must  know  that 
youth  and  maturity  see  life  from  a  different  standpoint.  In  your 
eyes  my  old  friend  Smithson  is  an  admirable  match.  You 
measure  him  by  his  houses,  his  stable,  his  banker's  book ;  but 
Lesbia  would  rather  marry  the  man  she  Joves  and  take  the  risks 
of  his  fate.  I  am  not  a  pauper.  Lady  Kirkbank,  and  the 
home  to  which  I  shall  take  my  love  is  pretty  enough  for  a  prin- 
cess of  the  blood  royal,  and  for  her  sake  I  shall  grow  richer  yet," 
he  added,  with  his  eyes  kindling,  "and  if  you  care  to  pay  us  a 
visit  next  February  in  our  Parisian  apartment  I  will  promise  you 
as  pleasant  a  nest  as  you  can  wish  to  occup}^" 

"  How  do  I  know  that  you  will  ever  bring  her  back  to  Eu- 
rope ?  "  said  Lady  Kirkbank  piteously.  "  How  do  I  know  that 
you  will  not  bury  her  alive  in  your  savage  countiy,  among  black- 
amoors like  those  horrid  sailors  over  there — kill  her,  perhaps, 
when  you  are  tired  of  her  ?  " 

At  these  words  of  Lady  Kirkbank's,  flung  out  at  random, 
Montesma  blanched,  and  his  deep  black  eye  met  hers  with  a 
strangely  sinister  look. 

"  Yes,"  she  cried,  hysterically.  "  Kill  her,  kill  her !  You 
look  as  if  you  could  do  it." 

Lesbia  nestled  closer  to  her  lover's  heart. 

*'  How  dare  you  say  such  things  to  him  ? "  she  cried,  angrily, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  383 

"  I  trust  him,  don't  you  see  ?  Trust  him  with  my  whole  heart, 
with  all  my  soul.  I  shall  be  his  wife  to-morrow,  for  good  or 
evil." 

"  Very  much  for  evil,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Lady  Kirkbank. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  come  to  your  cabin  and 
take  off  that  ball  gown,  and  make  yourself  just  a  little  less  dis- 
reputable in  outward  appearance,  while  I  get  a  cup  of  tea." 

Lesbia  obeyed,  and  went  down  to  her  cabin,  where  Kibble  was 
waiting  with  a  fresh  white  muslin  frock  and  all  its  belongings 
laid  out  ready  for  her  mistress,  sorely  perplexed  at  the  turn  which 
affairs  were  taking.  She  had  never  liked  Horace  Smithson,  al- 
though he  had  given  her  tips  which  were  almost  a  provision  for 
her  old  age ;  but  she  had  thought  it  a  good  thing  that  her  mis- 
tress, who  was  frightfully  extravagant,  should  marry  a  million- 
aire ;  and  now  they  were  sailing  over  the  sea  with  a  lot  of 
colored  sailors,  and  the  millionaire  was  left  on  shore. 

Lady  Kirkbank  went  into  the  saloon,  where  breakfast  was 
laid  ready,  and  where  the  steward  was  in  attendance  with  that 
air  of  being  absolutely  unconscious  of  any  domestic  disturbance 
which  is  the  mark  of  a  well-trained  servant. 

Lesbia  appeared  in  less  than  an  hour,  newly  dressed,  and 
fresh  looking  in  her  pure  white  gown,  her  brown  hair  bound  in 
a  coronet  round  her  small  Greek  head.  She  sat  down  by  Lady 
Kirkbank's  side,  and  tried  to  coax  her  into  good  humor. 

"  Why  can't  you  take  things  pleasantly,  dear,"  she  pleaded. 
"  Do  now,  like  a  good  soul.  You  heard  him  say  he  was  well  off, 
and  that  he  will  take  me  to  Paris  next  Winter,  and  you  can 
come  to  us  there  on  your  way  from  Cannes,  and  stay  with  us 
till  Easter.  It  will  be  so  nice  when  the  Prince  and  all  the  best 
people  are  in  Paris.  We  shall  only  stay  in  Cuba  till  the  fuss 
about  my  running  away  is  all  over  and  people  have  forgotten, 
aon't  you  know.'*  As  for  Mr.  Smithson,  why  should  I  have  an" 
more  compunction  about  jilting  him  than  he  had  about  that  poor 
Miss  Trinder  ?  By  the  bye,  I  want  you  to  send  him  back  all  his 
presents  for  me.  They  are  almost  all  in  Arlington  Street.  I 
brought  nothing  with  me  except  my  engagement  ring,"  looking 
down  at  the  half-loop  of  diamonds,  and  pulling  it  off  her  finger 
as  she  talked.     "I  had  a  kind  of  presentiment — " 

"  You  mean  that  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  throw  him 
over." 

"  No.  But  I  felt  that  there  were  breakers  ahead.  It  might 
have  come  to  throwing  myself  into  the  sea.  Perhaps  you  would 
have  liked  that  better  than  what  has  happened." 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.     The  whole  thing  is  disgraceful. 


384  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

London  will  ring  with  the  scandal.  What  ?.m  I  to  say  to  Lad}' 
Maulevrier  ?  To  your  brother  ?  And  pray  how  do  you  propose 
to  get  married  at  Havre  ?  You  cannot  be  married  in  a  French 
town  by  merely  holding  up  your  finger.  There  are  no  registry 
offices.     I  am  sure  I  have  no  idea  how  the  thing  is  done." 

''  Don  Gomez  has  arranged  all  that — everything  has  been 
thought  of — everything  has  been  planned.  A  steamer  will  take 
us  to  St.  Thomas,  and  another  steamer  will  take  us  on  to  Cuba." 

*'  But  the  marriage — the  license  ? " 

"  I  tell  you  everything  has  been  provided  for.  Please  take 
this  ring  and  send  it  to  Mr.  Smithson  when  you  go  back  to  Eng- 
land." 

"  Send  it  to  him  yourself ;  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  How  dreadfully  disagreeable  you  are,"  said  Lesbia,  pouting, 
"  Just  because  I  am  marrying  to  please  myself  instead  of  to 
please  you.     It  is  frightfully  selfish  of  you." 

Montesma  came  in  at  this  moment.  He,  too,  had  dressed 
himself  freshly,  and  was  looking  his  handsomest  in  that  bucca- 
neer style  of  costume  which  he  wore  when  he  sailed  the  yacht. 
He  and  Lesbia  breakfasted  at  their  ease,  while  Lady  Kirkbank 
reclined  in  her  bamboo  arm-chair,  feeling  very  unhappy  in  her 
mind  and  far  from  well.  Neptune  and  she  could  not  accommo- 
date themselves. 

After  a  <eisurely  breakfast,  enlivened  by  talk  and  laughter, 
the  cabin  windows  open,  the  sun  shining,  the  freshening  breeze 
blowing  in,  Lesbia  and  Don  Gomez  went  on  deck,  and  he  re- 
clined at  her  feet  while  she  read  to  him  from  the  pages  of  her 
favorite  "  Keats,"  read  tranquilly,  lazily,  yet  exquisitely,  for 
she  had  been  taught  to  read  as  well  as  to  sing.  The  poetry 
seemed  to  have  been  wTitten  on  purpose  for  them,  and  the  sky 
and  the  atmosphere  around  them  seemed  to  have  been  made 
for  the  poetry.  And  so  with  intervals  of  strolling  on  the  deck, 
and  an  hour  or  so  dawdled  away  at  luncheon,  and  a  leisurely 
afternoon  tea,  the  day  w^ore  on  to  sunset,  and  they  went  back  to 
Keats,  while  Lady  Kirkbank  sulked  and  slept  in  a  corner  of  the 
saloon. 

"  This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life,"  Lesbia  murmured  in  a 
pause  of  their  reading,  when  they  had  dropped  Endymion's  love 
to  talk  of  their  own. 

"  But  not  of  mine,  my  angel.  I  shall  be  happier  still  when 
we  are  far  away  on  broader  waters,  beyond  the  reach  of  all  who 
can  part  us." 

"  Can  any  one  part  us,  Gomez,  now  that  we  have  pledged  our- 
selves to  each  other  1  "  she  asked,  incredulously. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  385 

**  Ah,  love»  such  pledges  are  sometimes  broken.  AK  women 
are  not  lion-hearted.  While  the  sea  is  smootli  and  the  ship 
runs  fair  all  is  easy  enough  ;  but  when  the  tempest  and  peril 
come — that  is  the  test,  Lesbia.  Will  you  stand  by  me  in  the 
tempest,  love  ^ " 

"  You  know  that  I  will,"  she  answered,  with  her  hand  locked 
in  his  two  hands,  clasped  as  with  a  life-long  clasp. 

She  could  not  imagine  any  severe  ordeal  to  be  gone  through. 
If  Maulevrier  heard  of  her  elopement  m  time  for  pursuit  there 
would  be  a  fuss,  perhaps — an  angry  brother  raging  and  fum 
ing.  But  what  of  that  ?  She  was  her  own  mistress.  Maule- 
vrier could  not  prevent  her  marrying  whomsoever  she  pleased. 

"  Swear  that  you  will  hold  to  me  agamst  all  the  world,"  he 
said  passionately,  turning  his  head  10  look  across  the  stern  of 
the  vessel. 

"  Against  all  the  world,"  she  answered  softly. 

*'  I  believe  your  courage  will  be  tested  betore  long,"  he  said, 
and  then  he  cried  to  the  skipper,  "  Crowd  on  all  sail,  Tomaso  , 
that  boat  is  chasing  us." 

Lesbia  sprang  to  her  feet,  looking  as  he  looked  to  a  spot  of 
vivid  whiteness  on  the  horizon.  Montesma  had  snatched  up  a 
glass  and  was  watching  that  distant  spot. 

"  It  is  a  steam  yacht,"  he  said.     "  They  will  catch  us." 

He  was  right.  Although  the  Cayman  strained  eveiy  timber, 
so  that  her  keel  cut  through  the  water  like  a  boomerang,  wind 
and  steam  beat  wind  without  steam.  In  less  than  an  hour  the 
steam  yacht  was  beside  the"  Cayman,  and  Lord  Maulevrier  and 
Lord  Hartfield  had  boarded  Mr.  Smithson's  deck. 

*'  I  have  come  to  take  you  and  Lady  Kirkbank  back  to  Cowes, 
Lesbia,"  said  Maulverier.  "  I'm  not  going  to  make  any  undue 
fuss  about  this  little  escapade  of  yours,  provided  you  go  back 
with  Hartfield  and  me  at  once,  and  pledge  yourself  never  to 
hold  any  further  communication  with  Don  Gomez  de  Mon- 
tesma." 

The  Spaniard  was  standing  close  by,  silent,  white  as  death, 
but  ready  to  make  a  good  fight.  That  pallor  of  the  clear  olive 
skin  was  not  from  want  of  pluck  ;  but  there  was  the  deadly 
knowledge  of  the  ground  he  stood  upon,  the  doubt  rhat  any  wo- 
man, least  of  all  such  a  woman  as  Lady  Lesbia  Haselden,  could 
be  true  to  him  if  his  character  and  antecedents  were  revealed 
to  her.  And  how  much  or  how  little  these  two  men  could  teli 
her  about  himself  or  his  past  life  was  the  question  which  the 
next  few  minutes  would  solve. 

**  I  am  not  going  back  with  you,"  answered  Lesbia.     "  I  am 
25 


386  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

going  to  Havre  with  Don  Gomez  de  Montesma.  We  are  to 
be  married  there  as  soon  as  we  arrive." 

''  To  be  married — at  Havre,"  cried  Maulevrier.  "An  appro- 
priate place.     A  sailor  has  a  wife  in  every  port,  don't  you  know," 

"  We  had  better  go  down  to  the  cabin,"  said  Hartfield,  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  friend's  shoulder.  "  If  Lady  Lesbia  will  be 
good  enough  to  go  down  with  us  we  can  tell  her  all  that  we 
have  to  tell  quietly  there." 

Lord  Hartfield's  tone  was  unmistakable.  Ever}T:hing  was 
known. 

"You  can  talk  at  your  ease  here,"  said  Montesma,  facing  the 
two  men  with  a  diaboUcal  recklessness  and  insolence  of  manner. 
"  Not  one  of  these  fellows  on  board  knows  a  dozen  sentences  of 
English." 

"  I  would  rather  talk  beloW;  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  you,  senor, 
and  I  should  be  glad  to  speak  to  Lady  Lesbia  alone." 

"-'  That  you  shall  not  do  unless  she  desires  it,"  answered  Mon- 
tesma. 

"  NO;  he  shall  hear  all  that  you  have  to  say.  He  shall  hear 
how  I  answer  you,"  said  Lesbia. 

Lord  Hartfield  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  As  you  please,"  he  said.  "  It  will  make  the  disclosure  a  lit- 
tle more  painful  than  it  need  have  been ;  but  that  cannot  be 
helped.' 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"  O.  SAD  KISSED  MOUTH,  HOW  SORROWFUL  IT  IS.'* 

They  all  went  down  to  the  saloon,  Avhere  Lady  Kirkbank  sat, 
looking  the  image  of  despair,  which  changed  to  delighted  sur- 
prise at  sight  of  Lord  Hartfield  and  his  friend. 

"  Did  you  give  your  consent  to  my  sister's  elopement  with 
this  man,  Lady  Kirkbank  ?  '  Maulevrier  asked  brusquely. 

"  I  give  my  consent !  Good  gracious,  no.  He  has  eloped 
with  me  ever  so  much  more  than  with  your  sister.  She  knew 
all  about  it,  I've  no  doubt ;  but  the  wretch  ran  away  with  me 
in  my  sleen.*' 

"  I  am  glad,  for  your  own  self-respect,  that  you  had  no  hand 
in  this  disgraceful  business,"  replied  Maulevrier,  and  then  turn- 
ing to  Lord  Hartfield,  he  said  :  *'  Hartfield.  will  you  tell  my 
sister  who  and  what  this  man  is  t     Will  you  make-  her  under- 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE-  387 

stand  what  kind  of  pitfall  she  has  escaped  ?  Upon  my  soul,  1 
cannot  speak  of  it." 

"  I  recognize  no  right  of  LordHartfield's  to  interfere  with  my 
actions,  and  I  will  hear  nothmg  that  he  may  have  to  say,"  said 
Lesbia,  standing  by  her  lover's  side,  with  head  erect  and  eyes 
dark  with  anger. 

"  Your  sister's  husband  has  the  strongest  right  to  control  your 
actions,  Lady  Lesbia,  when  the  family  honor  is  at  stake," 
answered  Hartfield,  with  grave  authority.  "  Accept  me  at  least 
as  a  member  of  your  family,  if  you  will  not  accept  me  as  yout 
disinterested  and  devoted  friend." 

"  Friend  1  "  echoed  Lesbia  scornfully.  "  You  might  have 
been  my  friend  once.  Your  friendship  then  would  have  been  of 
some  value  to  me  ;  if  you  had  told  me  the  truth,  instead  of  ap- 
proaching me  with  a  lie  upon  your  lips.  You  talk  ot  honor, 
Lord  Hartfield,  you,  who  came  to  my  grandmother's  house  as  an 
impostor,  under  a  false  name  !  " 

"  I  went  there  as  a  man  standing  on  his  own  merits,  assuming 
no  rank  save  that  which  God  gave  him  among  his  fellow  men, 
claiming  to  be  possessed  of  no  fortune  except  intellect  and  in- 
dustry. If  I  could  not  win  a  wife  with  such  credentials  it  were 
better  for  me  never  to  marry  at  all,  Lady  Lesbia.  But  we  have 
no  time  to  speak  of  the  past.  I  am  here  as  your  brother's  friend, 
here  to  save  you." 

"To  part  me  from  the  man  to  whom  I  have  given  my  heart. 
That  you  cannot  do.  Gomez,  why  do  you  not  speak  ?  Tell  him, 
tell  him  1  "  cried  Lesbia,  with  a  voice  strangled  with  sobs  ;  *'  tell 
him  that  I  am  to  be  your  wife  to-morrow,  at  Havre.    Your  wife  !  " 

"  Dear  Lady  Lesbia,  that  cannot  be,"  said  Lord  Hartfield, 
sorrowfully,  pitying  her  in  her  helplessness,  as  he  might  have 
pitied  a  young  bird  in  the  fowler's  net.  *"  I  am  assured  upon  un- 
deniable authority  that  Senor  Montesma  has  a  wife  living  in 
Cuba ;  and  even  if  this  were  not  so — were  he  free  to  marry  you 
— his  character  and  antecedents  would  forever  forbid  such  a 
marriage." 

*'  A  wife  !  No,  no,  no  !  "  shrieked  Lesbia,  looking  wildly  from 
one  to  the  other.  "  It  is  a  lie — a  he,  invented  by  my  brother, 
who  always  hated  me — by  you,  who  always  hated  me  and  de- 
ceived me.  It  is  a  lie — an  infamous  invention.  Don  Gomez, 
speak  to  me  \  for  pity's  sake  answer  them.  Don't  you  see  that 
they  are  driving  me  mad  ?  " 

She  flung  herself  into  his  arms  ;  she  buried  her  disheveled 
head  upon  his  breast;  she  clung  to  him  with  hands  thai 
wreathed  convulsively  ir  her  agony 


3S8  PHANTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Maulevrier  sprang  across  the  cabin  and  wrenched  her  from 
her  lover's  grasp. 

"  You  shall  not  pollute  her  with  your  touch,"  he  cried.  "  You 
jf«ave  poisoned  her  mind  already.  Scoundrel,  seducer,  slave- 
iealer.  Do  you  hear,  Lesbia  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  what  this  man 
is — what  trade  he  followed  yonder  on  his  native  island — this 
Spanish  hidalgo — this  all-accomplished  gentleman — lineal  de- 
scendant of  the  Cid — fine  flower  of  Andalusian  chivalry.  It  was 
not  enough  for  him  to  cheat  at  cards,  to  float  bubble  companies, 
bogus  lotteries.  His  profligate  extravagance,  his  love  of  syba- 
rite luxury,  required  a  surer  resource  than  the  petty  schemes 
which  enrich  smaller  men.  A  slave  ship  which  could  earn  nearly 
twenty  thousand  pounds  on  every  voyage,  and  which  could  make 
two  runs  in  a  year,  that  was  the  trade  for  Don  Gomez  de  Mon- 
tesma,  and  he  carried  it  on  merrily  for  six  or  seven  years,  till  the 
British  cruisers  got  too  keen  for  him,  and  the  good  old  game  was 
played  out.  You  see  that  scar  upon  the  hidalgo's  forehead,  Les- 
bia? A  token  of  knightly  prowess,  you  think,  perhaps?  No, 
my  girl,  that  is  the  mark  of  an  English  cutlass  in  a  scuffle  on 
board  a  slaver.  A  merry  trade,  Lesbia — the  living  cargo  stowed 
dose  under  hatches  have  rather  a  bad  time  of  it  now  and  then — 
short  rations  of  food  and  water,  yellow  Jack.  They  die  like  rot- 
ten sheep  sometimes — bad  then  for  the  dealer.  But  if  he  can 
land  the  bulk  of  his  human  wares  safe  and  sound,  the  profits  are 
enormous.  The  Captain-general  takes  his  capitation  fee,  the 
blackies  are  drafted  off  to  the  sugar  plantations,  and  everybody 
is  satisfied ;  but  I  think,  Lesbia,  that  your  British  prejudices 
would  go  against  marriage  with  a  slave-trader,  were  he  ever  so 
free  to  make  you  his  wife,  which  this  particular  dealer  in  blacka- 
moors is  not," 

"  Is  this  true,  this  part  of  their  vile  story  ?  "  demanded  Les- 
bia, looking  at  her  lovei,  who  stood  apart  from  them  all  now, 
his  arms  folded,  his  face  deadly  pale,  the  lower  lip  quivering 
under  the  grinding  of  his  strong  white  teeth. 

**  There  is  some  truth  in  it,"  he  answered  hoarsely.  "  Every- 
body \\\  Cuba  has  a  finger  in  the  African  trade.  There  is  no 
other  commerce  worth  a  venture.  Mr.  Smithson  made  sixty 
thousand  pounds  in  that  time.  It  was  the  foundation  of  his  fort- 
une. And  yet  he  had  his  misfortune  in  running  his  cargo — a 
ship  burnt,  a  freight  roasted  alive.  There  are  some  very  black 
Gtories  in  Cuba  against  poor  Smithson.  He  will  never  go  there 
again." 

''  Mr.  Smithson  may  be  a  scoundrel,  indeed  I  believe  he  is  a 
pretty  bad  specimen  in  that  line/'  said  Lord  Hartfield.     "  But  J 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  389 

doubt  if  there  is  any  story  that  can  be  told  of  him  quite  so  bad 
as  the  history  of  your  marriage  and  the  events  that  went  before 
it.  I  have  been  told  the  beautiful  octoroon,  who  loved  and  trust- 
ed you,  who  shared  years  of  your  good  and  evil  fortunes  for  the 
most  desperate  years  of  your  life,  was  almost  accepted  as  your 
wife,  and  whose  strangled  corpse  was  found  in  the  harbor  while 
the  bells  were  ringing  for  your  marriage  with  a  rich  planter's 
heiress — the  lady  who  no  doubt  now  patiently  awaits  your  return 
to  her  native  island." 

"  She  will  wait  a  long  time,"  said  Montesma,  "or  fare  ill  if  I 
go  back  to  her.  Lesbia,  his  Lordship's  story  of  the  octoroon  is 
a  fable,  an  invention  of  my  Cuban  enemies,  who  hate  us  old 
Spaniards  with  a  poisonous  hatred.  But  this  much  is  true.  I 
am  a  married  man — bound,  fettered  by  a  tie  which  I  abhor. 
Our  Havre  marriage  would  have  been  bigamy  on  my  part,  a  de- 
lusion on  yours.  I  could  not  have  taken  you  to  Cuba.  I  had 
planned  our  life  in  a  fairer,  more  civilized  world.  I  am  rich 
enough  to  have  surrounded  you  with  all  that  makes  life  worth 
living.  I  would  have  given  you  love  as  true  and  as  deep  as  ever 
man  gave  to  woman.  All  that  would  have  been  wanting  would 
have  been  the  legality  of  the  tie  ;  and,  as  law  never  yet  made  a 
marriage  happy  which  lacked  the  elements  of  bliss,  our  lawless 
union  need  not  have  missed  happiness.  Lesbia,  you  said  that 
you  would  hold  by  me,  come  what  might.  The  worsi  has  come, 
love,  but  it  leaves  me  not  the  less  your  true  lover." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wild,  despairing  eyes,  and  then,  with 
a  hoarse,  strange  cry,  rushed  from  the  cabin  and  up  the  com- 
panion with  a  desperate  swiftness  which  seemed  like  the  flight 
of  a  bird.  Montesma,  Hartfield,  Maulevrier,  all  followed  her, 
heedless  of  everything  except  the  dire  necessity  of  arresting 
her  flight.     Each  in  his  own  mind  had  divined  her  purpose. 

They  were  not  too  late.  It  was  Hartfield's  strong  arm  that 
caught  her,  held  her  as  in  vise,  dragged  her  away  from  the 
edge  of  the  deck,  just  where  there  was  a  space  open  to  the 
waves.  Another  instant  and  she  would  have  flung  herself  over- 
board. She  fell  back  into  Lord  Hartfield's  arms  with  a  wild 
choking  cry.  "  Let  me  go !  Let  me  go  !  "  Another  moment 
and  a  flood  of  crimson  stained  his  shirt  front  as  she  lay 
upon  his  breast,  with  closed  eyelids  and  blood-bedabbed  lips, 
in  blessed  unconsciousness. 

They  carried  her  on  to  the  steam  yacht,  and  down  to  the 
cabin,  where  there  was  ample  accommodation  and  some  luxury, 
although  not  the  elegance  of  Bond  Street  upholstery.  Rilboche, 
Lady  Kirkbank,  Kibble,  luggage  of  all  kinds  were  transferred 


390 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


from  one  yacht  to  the  other,  even  to  the  vellum-bound  Keats 
which  lay  face  downward  on  the  deck,  just  where  Lesbia  had 
flung  it  when  the  Cayman  was  boarded.  The  crew  of  the  steam 
yacht  Philomel  helped  in  the  transfer;  there  were  plenty  of 
hands  and  the  work  was  done  quickly.  While  the  Meztizoes, 
Yukatekes,  Caribs,  or  whatever  they  were,  looked  on  and 
grinned  ;  and  while  Montesma  stood  leaning  against  the  mast, 
with  folded  arms,  and  somber  brow,  a  cigarette  between  his 
lips. 

When  the  women  and  all  their  belongings  were  on  board  the 
Philomel,  Lord  Hartfield  addressed  himself  to  the  Spaniard. 

"  If  you  consider  yourself  entitled  to  call  me  to  account  for 
this  evening's  work,  you  know  where  to  find  me,"  he  said. 

Montesma  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  threw  away  his  cigar- 
ette with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 

''Cen'est  pas  la  peine,"  he  said,  "I  am  a  dead  shot,  and 
should  be  pretty  sure  to  send  a  bullet  through  you  if  you  gave 
me  the  chance ;  but  I  should  not  be  any  nearer  winning  her  if 
I  killed  you,  and  it  is  she  and  she  only  that  I  want.  You  may 
think  me  an  adventurer — swindler — gambler — slave-dealer — 
what  you  will — but  I  love  her  as  I  never  thought  to  love  a 
woman,  and  I  should  have  been  true  as  steel  if  she  had  been 
plucky  enough  to  trust  me.  But,  as  I  told  her  an  hour  ago, 
women  have  not  lion  hearts.  They  can  talk  tall  while  the  sky 
is  clear  and  the  sun  shine.  But  at  the  first  crack  of  thunder — 
va  te  promener." 

"  If  you  have  killed  her — "  began  Hartfield. 

"  Killed  her  !  No  !  Some  small  blood-vessel  burst  in  the  agita- 
tion of  that  terrible  scene.  ^She  will  be  well  in  a  week,  and  she  will 
forget  me.  But  I  shall  not  forget  her.  She  is  the  one  flower 
that  has  sprung  on  the  barren  plain  of  my  life.  She  was  my 
Picciola." 

He  turned  his  back  on  Lord  Hartfield,  and  walked  to  the 
other  end  of  the  deck.  Something  in  his  face,  in  the  vibration 
of  his  deep  voice,  convinced  Hartfield  of  his  truth.  A  bad  man 
undoubtedly— steeped  to  the  lips  in  evil— and  yet  so  far  true 
that  he  had  passionately,  deeply,  devotedly  loved  this  one  woman. 

It  was  the  dead  of  night  when  Lesbia  recovered  consciousness ; 
and  even  then  she  lay  silent,  taking  no  heed  of  those  around  her, 
in  a  state  of  utter  prostration.  Kibble  nursed  her  carefully,  ten- 
derlv,  all  through  the  night ;  Maulevrier  hardly  left  the  cabin  ; 
and  Lady  Kirkbank,  always  more  or  less  a  victim  to  the  agonies 
of  sea-sickness,  still  found  time  to  utter  lamentations  and  wait- 
ings over  the  ruin  of  her  protegee's  fortune. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  391 

"  Never  had  a  girl  such  a  chance,"  she  moaned.  "  Quite  the 
best  match  in  society.  The  house  in  Park  Lane  alone  cost  a 
fortune.     Her  diamonds  would  have  been  the  finest  in  London." 

"They  would  have  been  stained \yith  the  blood  of  the  niggers 
he  traded  in  out  yonder,"  answered  Maulevrier.  "Do  you 
think  I  would  have  let  my  sister  marry  a  slave-dealer  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  a  syllable  of  it,"  protested  Lady  Kirkbank, 
dabbing  her  brow  with  a  handkerchief  steeped  in  eau  de  cologne. 
*'A  vile  fabrication  of  Montesma's,  who  wanted  to  blacken 
poor  Smithson's  character  in  order  to  extenuate  his  own  crimes." 

"  Well,  we  won't  go  into  that  question,"  said  Maulevrier,  wea- 
rily. "  The  Smithson  match  is  off,  any  how,  and  it  matters  very 
little  to  us  whether  he  made  most  money  out  of  niggers  or  bub- 
ble companies,  or  lotteries,  or  gaming  hells." 

"  I  am  convinced  that  Smithson  made  his  fortune  in  a 
thoroughly  gentlemanlike  manner,"  argued  Lady  Kirkbank. 
"  Look  at' the  people  who  visit  him  and  the  houses  he  goes  to  ! 
And  I  don't  see  why  the  match  need  be  off.  I'm  sure  if  Lesbia 
plays  her  cards  properly  he  will  look  over  this — this  little  esca- 
pade." 

Maulevrier  contemplated  the  wrinkled,  worldly  old  face  with 
infinite  scorn. 

"  Does  she  look  like  a  girl  who  will  play  her  cards  in  your  fash- 
ion ? "  he  asked,  pointing  to  his  sister,  whose  white  face  upon 
the  white  pillow  seemed  like  a  mask  cut  out  of  marble.  "  Upon 
mv  soul.  Lady  Kirkbank,  I  consider  my  sister's  elopement  with 
this  Spanish  adventurer,  with  whom  she  was  over  head  and  ears 
in  love,  a  far  more  respectable  act  than  her  engagement  to  Smith- 
son,  for  whom  she  cared  not  a  straw." 

"  Well,  I  hope  if  you  so  approve  of  her  conduct  you  will  help 
her  to  pay  her  dressmaker  and  the  rest  of  them,"  retorted  Lady 
Kirkbank.  "  She  has  been  plunging  rather  deep,  I  believe,  un- 
der the  impression  that  Smithson  would  pay  all  her  bills  when 
she  was  married.  Your  grandmother  may  not  quite  like  the  bud- 
get." 

"  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  her,"  answered  Maulevrier,  "  I  would 
do  a  great  deal  to  save  her  from  the  degradation  to  which  your 
teaching  has  brought  her." 

Lady  Kirkbank  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  or  so  with  re- 
proachful eyes,  and  then  shrugged  her  shoulders  contemptuously. 

"  If  I  ever  expected  gratitude  from  people,  I  might  feel  the 
injustice — the  insolence— of  your  last  remark,"  she  said  :  "  but 
as  I  never  do  expect  gratitude,  I  am  not  disappointed  in  this 
case.     And  now  I  think  if  there  is  a  cabin  which  I  can  have  to 


392  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

myself  i  should  like  to  retire  to  it,"  she  added,  "  My  cares  are 
thrown  away  here." 

There  was  a  cabin  at  Lady  Kirkbank's  disposal.  It  had  been 
already  appropriated  by  Rilboche,  and  smelt  of  cognac  ;  but  Ril- 
boche  resigned  her  berth  to  her  mistress,  and  laid  herself  meekly 
on  the  floor  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage. 

They  were  in  Cowes  Roads  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning,  and 
Lord  Hartfield  went  on  shore  for  a  doctor,  whom  he  brought  back 
before  nine,  and  who  pronounced  Lady  Lesbia  to  be  in  a  very 
weak  and  prostrate  condition,  and  forbade  her  being  moved 
within  the  next  two  days.  Happily  Lord  Hartfield  had  borrowed 
the  Philomel  and  crew  from  a  friend,  who  had  given  him  carte 
blanche  as  to  the  use  he  made  of  her,  and  who  freely  left  her 
at  his  disposal  so  long  as  he  and  his  party  should  need  the  ac- 
commodation. Lesbia  could  nowhere  be  better  off  than  on  the 
yatch,  where  she  was  away  from  the  gossip  and  tittle  tat- 
tle of  the  town.  The  roadstead  was  quiet  enough  now.  All 
the  racing  yachts  had  melted  away  like  a  dream,  and  most  of 
the  pleasure  yachts  were  off  to  Ryde.  Lady  Lesbia  lay  in  her 
curtained  cabin,  with  Kibble  keeping  watch  beside  her  bed, 
with  Maulevrier  coming  in  every  half  hour  to  see  how  she  was 
— sitting  by  her  a  little  now  and  then,  and  talking  of  indifferent 
things  in  a  low,  kind  voice,  which  was  full  of  comfort. 

She  seemed  grateful  for  his  kindness,  and  smiled  at  him  once 
in  a  way,  with  a  piteous  little  smile — but  she  had  the  air  of  one 
in  whom  the  mainspring  of  life  is  broken.  The  pallid  face  and 
heavy  violet  eyes,  the  semi-transparent  hands  which  lay  so  list- 
lessly upon  the  crimson  coverlet,  conveyed  an  impression  of  su- 
preme despair.  Hartfield,  looking  down  at  her  for  the  last  time 
when  he  came  to  say  good-by  before  leaving  for  London,  was  re- 
minded of  the  story  of  one  whose  life  had  been  thus  rudely 
broken,  who  had  loved  as  foolishly,  and  even  more  fondly, 
and  for  whom  this  world  held  nothing  when  that  tie  was 
broken. 

"  She  looked  on  many  a  face  with  vacant  eye, 
On  many  a  token  without  knowing  what ; 
She  saw  them  watch  her,  without  asking  why, 
And  recked  not  who  around  her  pillow  sat." 

But  Lesbia  Haselden  belonged  to  a  wider  and  more  sophisti- 
cated world  than  that  of  the  daughter  of  the  Grecian  Isle,  and 
for  her  existence  offered  wider  horizons.  It  might  be  prophesied 
that  for  her  the  dark  ending  of  a  girlish  dream  would  not  be  a 
lifelong  despair.     The  passionate  love  had  been  at  fever  point, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  393 

the  passionate  grief  must  have  its  fever  too  and  burn  itself 
out. 

"  Do  all  you  can  to  cheer  her,"  said  Lord  Hartfield  to  Maule- 
vrier,  "  and  bring  her  to  Fellside  as  soon  as  ever  she  is  strong 
enough  to  bear  the  journey.  You  and  Kibble,  with  your  own 
man,  will  be  able  to  do  all  that  is  necessary." 

"  Quite  able." 

"  That's  right.  I  must  be  in  the  House  for  the  expected  di- 
vision to-night,  and  I  shall  go  back  to  Grasmere  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.    Poor  Mary  is  horribly  lonely." 

Lord  Hartfield  went  off  in  the  boat  to  catch  the  Southampton 
steamer,  and  Maulevrier  was  now  sole  custodian  of  the  yacht, 
and  of  his  sister.  He  and  the  doctor  had  agreed  to  keep  her 
on  board,  in  the  fresh  sea  air,  till  she  was  equal  to  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey  to  Grasmere.  There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
taking  her  on  to  the  island  or  by  carrying  her  to  London.  The 
yacht  was  well  found,  provided  with  all  things  needful  to  her 
comfort,  and  she  could  be  nowhere  better  off  until  she  was  safe 
in  her  own  home  ;  that  home  she  had  left  so  gayly,  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  her  youthful  inexperience,  nearly  a  year  ago,  and  to 
which  she  would  return  so  battered  and  broken,  so  deeply  de- 
graded by  the  knowledge  of  evil. 

Lady  Kirkbank  had  started  for  London  on  the  previous  day. 

"  I  am  evidently  not  wanted  here,"  she  said,  with  an  offended 
air,  "  and  I  must  have  everything  at  Kirkbank  ready  for  a  house 
full  of  people  before  the  12th  of  August;  so  the  sooner  I  get  to 
Scotland  the  better.  I  shall  make  a  detour  in  order  to  go  and 
see  Lady  Maulevrier  on  my  way  down.  It  is  due  to  myself 
that  I  should  let  her  know  that  I  am  entirely  blameless  in  this 
most  uncomfortable  business 

"You  can  tell  her  Ladyship  what  you  please,"  answered 
Maulevrier  bluntly,  "  I  shall  not  gainsay  you,  so  long  as  you 
do  not  slander  my  sister,  but  as  long  as  I  live  I  shall  regret 
that  I,  knowing  something  of  London  society,  did  not  interfere 
to  prevent  Lesbia  being  given  over  to  your  keeping." 

"  If  I  had  known  the  kind  of  girl  she  is,  I  would  have  had 
nothing  to  do  with  her,"  retorted  Lady  Kirkbank  with  exaspera- 
tion ;  and  so  theyparted. 

The  Philomel  had  been  lying  off  Cowes  three  days  before 
Mr.  Smithson  appeared  upon  the  scene.  He  had  got  wind 
somehow  from  a  sailor,  who  had  talked  with  one  of  the  foreign 
crew,  of  the  destination  of  the  Cayman,  and  he  had  crossed 
to  Havre  on  the  steamer  Wolf  from  Southampton  during  that 
night  in  which  Lesbia  was  being  carried  back  to    Cowes  on 


394  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

the  Philomel.     He  was  at   Havre  when  the    Cayman  came  in 
with  Montesma  and  his  tawny-visaged  crew  on  board. 

"  You  may  examine  every  corner  of  your  ship,"  Montesma 
cried,  scornfully,  when  Smithson  came  on  board  and  swore 
that  Lesbia  must  be  hidden  somewhere  in  the  vessel.  "  The 
bird  has  flown.  She  will  shelter  in  neither  your  nest  nor  in 
mine,  Smithson.  You  have  lost  her,  and  so  have  I.  We  may 
as  well  be  friends  in  misfortune." 

He  was  haggard,  livid  with  grief  and  anger.  He  looked  ten 
years  older  than  he  had  looked  the  other  night  at  the  ball, 
when  his  dash  and  swagger  and  handsome  Spanish  head  had 
been  the  admiration  of  the  room. 

Smithson  was  very  angry,  but  he  was  not  a  fighting  man. 
He  had  enjoyed  various  opportunities  for  distinguishing  him- 
self in  that  line  in  the  island  of  Cuba,  but  he  had  always 
avoided  such  opportunities.  So  now,  after  a  good  deal  of  blus- 
ter and  violent  language,  which  Montesma  took  as  lightly  as 
if  it  had  been  the  whistling  of  the  wind  in  the  shrouds,  poor 
Smithson  calmed  down,  and  allowed  Gomez  de  Montesma  to 
leave  the  yacht,  with  his  portmanteau,  unharmed.  He  meant 
to  take  the  first  steamer  for  the  Spanish  main,  he  told  Smithson. 
He  had  had  enough  of  Europe. 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  end  in  your  marrying  her,"  he  said  at  the 
last  moment.     "  If  you  do — be  kind  to  her." 

His  voice  faltered,  choked  by  a  sob,  at  those  last  words.  Aft- 
er all  it  is  possible  for  a  man  without  principle,  without  mor- 
ality, to  begin  to  make  love  to  a  woman  in  mere  spirit  of  ad- 
venture, in  sheer  deviltry,  and  to  be  rather  hard  hit  at  last. 

Horace  Smithson  sailed  his  yacht  back  to  Cowes  without  loss 
of  time,  and  sent  his  card  to  Lord  Maulevrier  on  board  the 
Philomel.  His  Lordship  replied  that  he  would  wait  upon  Mr. 
Smithson  that  afternoon  at  four  o'clock;  and  at  that  hour 
Maulevrier  again  boarded  the  Cayman,  but  this  time  very  quietly, 
as  an  expected  guest. 

The  interview  that  followed  was  very  painful,  Mr.  Smithson 
was  willing  that  this  unhappy  episode  in  the  life  of  his  betrothed, 
this  folly  into  which  she  had  been  beguiled  by  a  man  of  in- 
finite treachery,  a  man  of  all  other  men  fatal  to  women,  should 
be  forgotten,  should  be  as  if  it  had  never  been. 

"  It  was  her  very  innocence  which  made  her  a  victim  to  that 
scoundrel,"  said  Smithson,  "  her  girlish  simplicity,  and  Lady 
Kirkbank's  folly.  But  I  love  your  sister  too  well  to  sacrifice 
her  rightly,  Lord  Maulevrier ;  and  if  she  can  forget  this  mid- 
summer madness,  why,  so  can  I." 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE,  395 

"She  cannot  forget,  Mr,  Smithson,"  answered  Maulevrier 
gravely.  "  She  has  done  you  a  great  wrong  by  hstening  to  your 
false  friend's  addresses  ;  but  she  did  you  a  still  greater  wrong 
when  she  accepted  you  as  her  husband,  without  one  spark  of 
love  for  you.  She  and  you  are  both  happy  in  having  escaped 
the  degradation,  the  deep  misery  of  a  loveless  union.  I  am 
glad — yes,  glad  even  of  this  shameful  escapade  with  Montesma 
— though  it  has  dragged  her  good  name  through  the  gutter — 
glad  of  the  catastrophe  that  has  saved  her  from  such  a  marriage. 
You  are  very  generous  in  your  willingness  to  forget  my  sister's 
folly.  Let  your  forgetfulness  go  a  step  further — and  forget  that 
you  ever  met  her." 

"  That  cannot  be.  Lord  Maulevrier.     She  has  ruined  my  life." 

"  Not  at  all.  An  affair  of  a  season,"  answered  the  young  man 
lightly.  "Next  year  I  shall  hear  of  you  as  the  accepted  hus- 
band'of  soifie  new  beauty.  A  man  of  Mr.  Smithson's  wealth — 
and  good  nature — need  not  languish  in  single  blessedness." 

With  this  civil  speech  Lord  Maulevrier  went  back  to  the  Phi- 
lomel's gig,  and  this  was  his  last  meeting  with  Mr.  Smithson, 
until  they  met  a  year  later  in  the  beaten  tracks  of  society. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

"  THAT  FELL  ARREST,  WITHOUT  ALL  BAIL." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  August  before  Lesbia  was  pronounced 
equal  to  the  fatigue  of  a  long  journey  ;  and  even  then  it  was 
but  the  shadow  of  her  former  self  which  returned  to  Fellside, 
the  pale  specter  of  joys  departed,  of  trust  deceived. 

Maulevrier  had  been  very  good  to  her,  patient,  unselfish  as  a 
woman  in  his  ministering  to  the  broken-hearted  girl.  That  bro- 
ken heart  would  be  whole  again  no  doubt  in  the  future,  as  many 
other  broken  hearts  have  been ;  but  the  grief,  the  despair,  the 
sense  of  hopelessness  and  aimlessness  in  life  were  very  real  in 
the  present.  If  the  picturesque  seclusion  of  Fellside  had  seemed 
dull  and  joyless  to  Lesbia  in  days  gone  by,  it  was  much  duller 
to  her  now.  She  was  shocked  at  the  change  in  her  grandmother, 
and  she  showed  a  good  deal  of  feeling  and  affection  in  her  inter- 
course with  the  invalid,  but  once  out  of  her  presence  Lady 
Maulevrier  was  forgotten,  and  Lesbia's  thoughts  drifted  back 
into  the  old  current.  They  dwelt  obstinately,  unceasingly  upon 
Montesma,  the  man  whose  influence  had  awakened  the  slumber- 


396  PHANTOJl^  FORTUNE. 

ing  soul  from  its  torpor,  had  stirred  the  depths  of  a  passionate 
nature. 

Slave-dealer,  gambler,  adventurer,  liar — his  name  blackened 
by  the  suspicion  of  a  still  darker  crime.  She  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  the  villain  from  whose  snare  she  had  been  rescued ; 
and  yet,  his  image  as  he  had  been  to  her  in  the  brief  golden  time 
when  she  believed  him  noble,  and  chivalrous,  and  true,  haunted 
her  lonely  days,  mixed  itself  in  her  troubled  dreams,  came  be- 
tween her  and  every  other  thought. 

Everybody  was  good  to  her.  That  pale  and  joyless  face,  that 
look  of  patient,  hopeless  suffering  which  she  tried  to  disguise 
every  now  and  then  with  a  faint,  forced  smile,  and  silvery  little 
ripple  of  society  laughter,  seemed  unconsciously  to  implore  pity 
and  pardon.  Lady  Maulevrier  uttered  no  word  of  reproach. 
"  My  dearest,  fate  "has  not  been  kind  to  you,"  she  said,  gently, 
after  telling  Lesbia  of  Lady  Kirkbank's  visit.  "  The  handsom- 
est women  are  seldom  the  happiest.  Destiny  seems  to  have  a 
grudge  against  them.  And  if  things  have  gone  amiss  it  is  I  who 
am  most  to  blame.  I  ought  never  to  have  entrusted  you  with 
such  a  woman  as  Georgink  Kirkbank.  But  you  will  be  happier 
next  season,  I  hope,  dearest.  You  can  live  with  Mary  and  Hart- 
field.     They  will  take  care  of  you." 

Lesbia  shuddered. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  going  back  to  the  society  treadmill !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  No,  I  have  done  with  the  world.  I  shall  end  my 
days  here  or  in  a  convent." 

"  You  think  so  now,  dear,  but  you  will  change  your  mind  by 
and  by.  A  fancy  that  has  lasted  only  a  few  weeks  cannot  alter 
your  life.  It  will  pass  as  other  dreams  have  passed  at  your  age. 
You  have  the  future  before  you." 

"  No,  it  is  the  past  that  is  always  before  me,"  answered  Les- 
bia.    "  My  future  is  a  blank." 

The  bills  came  pouring  in — dressmaker,  milliner,  glover,  boot- 
maker, tailor,  stationer,  perfumer — awful  bills,  which  made  Lady 
Maulevrier's  blood  run  cold,  so  degrading  was  their  story  of 
selfish  self-indulgence,  of  senseless  extravagance.  But  she  paid 
them  all  without  a  word.  She  took  upon  her  shoulders  the  chief 
burden  of  Lesbia's  wrong-doing.  It  was  her  indulgence,  her 
weak  preference  which  had  fostered  her  granddaughter's  selfish- 
ness, trained  her  to  vanity  and  worldly  pride.  The  result  was 
ignominious,  himiiliating,  bitter  beyond  all  common  bitterness ; 
but  the  cup  was  of  her  own  brewing  and  she  drank  it  without  a 
murmur. 

Parliament  was  prorogued  ;  the  season  was  over ;  and  Lord 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  397 

Hartfield  was  established  at  Fellside  for  the  Autumn — he  and 
his  wife  utterly  happy  in  their  affection  for  each  other,  but  not 
without  care  as  to  their  surroundings,  which  were  full  of  trouble. 
First  there  was  Lesbia's  sorrow.  Granted  that  it  was  a  grief 
which  would  inevitably  wear  itself  out,  as  other  such  griefs  have 
done,  from  time  immemorial ;  but  still  the  sorrow  was  there,  at 
tkeir  doors.  Next,  there  was  the  state  of  Lady  Maulevrier's 
health,  which  gave  her  old  medical  adviser  the  gravest  fears. 
At  Lord  Hartfield's  earnest  desire  a  famous  doctor  was  sum^ 
moned  from  London ;  but  the  great  man  could  only  confirm  Mr. 
Horton's  verdict.  The  thread  of  life  was  wearing  thinner  every 
day.  It  might  snap  at  any  hour.  In  the  mean  time  the  only 
regimen  was  repose  of  body  and  mind,  an  all-pervading  calm, 
the  avoidance  of  all  exciting  topics.  One  moment  of  violent 
agitation  might  prove  fatal. 

Knowing  this,  how  could  Lord  Hartfield  call  her  Ladyship  to 
account  for  the  presence  of  that  mysterious  old  man  under 
Steadman's  charge — how  venture  to  touch  upon  a  topic  which, 
by  Mary's  showing,  had  exercised  a  most  disturbing  influence 
upon  her  Ladyship's  mind,  on  that  solitary  occasion  when  the 
girl  ventured  to  approach  the  subject. 

He  felt  that  any  attempt  at  an  explanation  was  impossible. 
It  was  not  for  him  to  precipitate  Lady  Maulevrier's  end  by  pry- 
ing into  her  secrets.  Granted  that  shame  and  dishonor  of  some 
kind  were  involved  in  the  existence  of  that  strange  old  man, 
he,  Lord  Hartfield,  must  endure  his  portion  of  that  shame — 
must  be  content  to  leave  the  dark  riddle  unsolved. 

He  resigned  himself  to  this  state  of  things,  and  tried  to  for- 
get the  cloud  that  hung  over  the  house  of  Haselden;  but  the 
sense  of  a  mystery,  a  fatal  family  secret,  which  must  come  to 
light  sooner  or  later — since  all  such  secrets  are  known  at  last — 
known,  sifted  and  bandied  about  from  lip  to  lip,  and  published 
in  a  thousand  different  papers  and  cried  aloud  in  the  streets — 
the  sense  of  such  a  secret,  the  dread  of  such  a  revelation 
weighed  upon  him  heavily. 

Maulevrier,  the  restless,  was  off  to  Argyleshire  for  the  grouse 
shooting  as  soon  as  he  had  deposited  Lady  Lesbia  comfortably 
at  Fellside. 

"  I  should  only  be  in  your  way  if  I  stopped,"  he  said,  "  for 
you  and  Molly  have  hardly  got  over  the  honeymoon  stage  yet, 
though  you  put  on  the  airs  of  Darby  and  Joan.  I  shall  be  back 
in  a  week  or  ten  days." 

"  In  Lady  Maulevrier's  state  of  health,  I  don't  think  you 
ought  to  stay  away  very  long,"  said  Hartfield. 


398  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

"  Poor  Lady  Maulevrier.  She  never  cared  much  for  me, 
don't  you  know.  But  I  suppose  it  would  seem  unkind  if  I  were 
to  be  out  of  the  way  when  the  end  comes.  The  end — good 
heavens !  how  coolly  I  talk  of  it,  and  a  year  ago  I  thought  she 
was  as  immortal  as  Fairfield  yonder." 

He  went  away,  his  spirits  dashed  by  that  awful  thought  of 
death ;  and  Lord  and  Lady  Hartfield  had  the  house  to  them- 
selves, since  Lesbia  hardly  counted.  She  seldom  left  her  own 
rooms,  except  to  sit  with  her  grandmother  for  an  hour.  She 
lay  on  her  sofa — or  sat  in  a  low  arm-chair  by  the  window,  read- 
ing Keats  or  Shelley — or  only  dreaming — dreaming  over  the  brief 
golden  time  of  her  life,  with  its  fond  delusions,  its  false  bright- 
ness. Mr.  Horton  went  to  see  her  every  day,  felt  the  feeble  lit- 
tle pulse,  which  seemed  hardly  to  have  force  enough  to  beat, 
urged  her  to  struggle  against  apathy  and  inertia,  to  walk  a  little, 
to  go  for  a  long  drive  every  day,  to  live  in  the  open  air — to  which 
instructions  she  paid  not  the  slightest  attention.  The  desire 
for  life  was  gone.  Disappointed  in  her  ambition,  betrayed  in 
her  love,  humiliated,  duped,  degraded — a  social  failure.  What 
had  she  to  live  for  ?  She  felt  as  if  it  would  have  been  a  good 
thing — quite  the  best  thing  that  could  happen — if  she  could  turn 
her  face  to  the  wall  and  die.  All  that  past  season,  its  triumphs, 
its  pleasures,  its  varieties,  was  like  a  garish  dream,  a  horror 
to  look  back  upon,  hateful  to  remember. 

In  vain  did  Mary  and  Hartfield  urge  Lesbia  to  join  in  their 
simple  pleasures,  their  walks  and  rides  and  drives  and  boating 
excursions,  never  going  very  far  afield  on  account  of  Lady  Mau- 
levrier.    She  always  refused. 

"  You  know  I  never  cared  much  for  roaming  about  these  ever- 
lasting hills,"  she  told  Mary.  "I  never  had  your  passion  for 
Lakeland.  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  wish  to  have  me  ;  but  it  is 
quite  impossible.  I  have  hardly  strength  enough  for  a  little 
walk  in  the  garden." 

"You  would  have  more  strength  if  you  went  out  more," 
pleaded  Mary,  almost  with  tears.  "  Mr.  Horton  says  sun  and 
wind  are  the  best  doctors  for  you.  Lesbia,  you  frighten  me 
sometimes.     You  are  just  letting  yourself  fade  away." 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  hate  the  world  and  sky,  Mary,  you 
wouldn't  urge  me  to  go  out  of  doors,"  Lesbia  answered,  mood- 
ily. "  Indoors  I  can  read  and  get  away  from  my  own  thoughts 
somehow  for  a  little  while.  But  out  yonder,  face  to  face  with 
the  hills  and  the  lake — the  scenes  I  have  known  all  my  life — I 
feel  a  heart-sickness  that  is  worse  than  death.     To  see  the  old, 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


399 


old  picture  of  mountain  and  water,  the  same  forever  and  ever, 
no  matter  what  hearts  are  breaking." 

Mary  crept  close  beside  her  sister's  couch,  put  her  arm  round 
her  neck,  laid  her  cheek — rich  in  the  ruddy  bloom  of  health — 
against  Lesbia's  pallid  and  sunken  cheek,  and  comforted  her  as 
much  as  she  could  with  tender  murmurs  and  loving  kisses. 
Other  comfort  she  could  give  none.  All  the  wisdom  in  the  world 
will  not  cure  a  girl's  heart-sickness  when  she  has  flung  away  the 
treasures  of  her  love  upon  a  worthless  object. 

And  so  the  days  went  by,  peacefully,  but  sadly  ;  for  the 
shadow  of  doom  liung  heavily  over  the  house  upon  the  Fell. 
Nobody  who  looked  upon  Lady  Maulevrier  could  doubt  that 
her  days  were  numbered,  that  the  oil  was  waxing  low  in  the 
lamp  of  life.  The  end,  the  awful,  mysterious  end,  was  drawing 
near  ;  and  she  who  was  called  was  making  no  such  preparations 
as  the  Christian  makes  to  answer  the  dread  summons.  As  she 
had  lived,  she  meant  to  die — an  avowed  unbeliever.  More  than 
once  Mary  had  taken  courage,  and  had  talked  to  her  grand- 
mother of  the  world  beyond,  the  blessed  hope  of  reunion  with 
the  friends  we  have  lost,  in  a  new  and  brighter  life,  only  to  be 
met  by  the  skeptic's  cynical  smile,  the  materialist's  barren  creed. 

"  My  dearest,  we  know  nothing  except  the  immutable  laws  of 
material  life.  All  the  rest  is  a  dream — a  beautiful  dream,  if  you 
like — a  consolation  to  that  kind  of  temperament  which  can  take 
comfort  from  dreams  ;  but  for  any  one  who  has  read  much  and 
thought  much,  and  kept  as  far  as  possible  on  a  level  with  the 
scientific  intellect  of  the  age — for  such  an  one,  Mary,  these  old 
fables  are  too  idle.  I  shall  die  as  I  have  lived,  my  dear,  the 
victim  of  an  inscrutable  destiny,  working  blindly,  evil  to  some, 
good  to  others.  Ah  !  love,  life  has  begun  very  fairly  for  you. 
May  the  fates  be  kind  always  to  my  gentle  and  loving  girl." 

There  was  more  talk  between  them  on  this  dark  mystery  of 
life  and  death.  Mary  brought  out  her  poor  little  arguments, 
glorified  by  the  light  of  perfect  faith  ;  but  they  were  of  no  avail 
against  opinions  which  had  been  the  gradual  growth  of  a  long 
joyless  life.  Time  had  attuned  Lady  Maulevrier's  mind  to  the 
gospel  of  Schopenhauer  and  the  Pessimists,  and  she  was  con- 
tented to  see  the  mystery  of  life  as  they  had  seen  it.  She  had 
no  fear,  but  she  held  some  anxiety  as  to  the  things  that  were  to 
happen  after  she  was  gone.  She  had  taken  upon  herself  a 
heavy  burden,  and  she  had  not  yet  come  to  the  road  where  her 
burden  might  be  laid  quietly  down,  her  task  accomplished.  If 
she  fell  by  the  wayside  under  her  load  the  consequences  for  her 
survivors  might  be  full  of  trouble. 


400  PHA  NTOM  FOR  TUNE. 

Her  anxieties  were  increased  by  the  fact  that  her  faithful  serv- 
ant and  adviser,  James  Steadman,  was  no  longer  the  man  he  had 
been.  The  change  in  him  was  painfull}^  evident — the  memory 
failing,  energy  gone.  He  came  to  his  mistress's  room  every 
morning,  received  her  orders,  answered  her  questions ;  but  Lady 
Maulevrier  thought  he  went  through  the  old  duties  in  a  mechan- 
ical way,  and  that  his  dull  brain  but  half  understood  its  impor- 
tance. 

One  evening  at  dusk,  just  as  Hartfield  and  Mary  were  leav- 
ing Lady  Maulevrier's  room  after  dinner,  an  appalling  shriek 
ran  through  the  house — a  cry  almost  as  terrible  as  that  which 
Lord  Hartfield  heard  in  the  summer  midnight  just  a  year  ago. 
But  this  time  the  sound  came  from  the  old  part  of  the  house. 

"  Something  has  happened,"  exclaimed  Hartfield,  rushing  to 
the  door  of  communication. 

It  was  bolted  inside.  He  knocked  vehemently,  but  there  was 
no  answer.  He  ran  down  stairs,  followed  by  Mary,  breathless 
and  in  an  agony  of  fear.  Just  as  they  approached  the  lower 
door,  leading  to  the  old  house,  it  was  flung  open,  and  Stead- 
man's  wife  stood  before  them,  pale  with  terror. 

"  The  doctor,"  she  cried.  "  Send  for  Mr.  Horton,  somebody, 
for  God's  sake.  Oh,  my  Lord,"  with  a  sudden  burst  of  sobbing, 
»'  I'm  afraid  he's  dead." 

"  Mary,  dispatch  some  one  for  Horton,"  said  Lord  Hartfield. 

Keeping  his  wife  back  with  one  hand,  he  closed  the  door 
against  her  and  then  followed  Mrs.  Steadman  through  the  long 
corridor  to  her  husband's  sittmg-room. 

James  Steadman  was  lying  with  his  back  upon  the  hearth  near 
"he  spot  where  Lord  Hartfield  had  seen  him  sleeping  in  his  arm- 
chair a  month  ago. 

One  look  at  the  distorted  face,  dark  with  injected  blood,  the 
dreadful  glassy  glare  of  the  eyes,  the  foam-stained  lips,  told  that 
all  was  over.  The  faithful  servant  had  died  at  his  post.  What- 
ever his  charge  had  been,  his  term  of  service  was  ended. 
There  was  a  vacancy  in  Lady  Maulevrier's  household. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  ^q, 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  DAY  OF  RECKONING. 

Lord  Hartfield  stayed  with  the  frightened  wife  while  she 
knelt  beside  that  awful  figure  on  the  hearth,  wringing  her  hands 
with  piteous  bewailings  and  lamentations  over  the  unconscious 
clay.  He  had  always  been  a  good  husband  to  her,  she  mur- 
mured, hard  and  stern,  perhaps,  but  a  good  man.  And  she  had 
obeyed  him  without  a  question.  Whatever  he  did  or  said  she 
had  counted  right. 

"  We  have  not  had  a  happy  life,  though  there  are  many  who 
have  envied  us  her  Ladyship's  favor,"  she  said  in  the  midst  of 
her  lamentations.  "  No  one  knows  where  the  shoe  pinches 
but  those  who  have  to  wear  it.  Poor  James  !  Early  and  late, 
early  and  late,  studying  her  Ladyship's  interest,  caring  and 
thinking  in  order  to  keep  trouble  away  from  her.  Always  on 
the  watch,  always  on  the  listen.  That's  what  wore  him  out, 
poor  fellow." 

"  My  good  soul,  your  husband  was  an  old  man,"  argued  Lord 
Hartfield  in  a  consolatory  tone,  "  and  the  end  must  come  to  all 
of  us  somehow." 

"  He  might  have  lived  to  be  a  mubh  older  man  if  he  had  had 
less  worry,"  said  the  wife,  bending  her  face  to  kiss  the  cold  dead 
brow.  "  His  days  were  full  of  care.  We  should  have  been 
happier  in  the  poorest  cottage  in  Grasmere  than  we  ever  were 
in  this  big  grand  house." 

Thus,  in  broken  fragments  of  speech,  Mrs.  Steadman  lamented 
over  her  dead,  while  the  heavy  pendulum  of  the  eight  days' 
clock  in  the  hall  sounded  the  slowly  passing  moments,  until  the 
coming  of  the  doctor  broke  upon  the  quiet  of  the  house  with  the 
nofse  of  opening  doors  and  approaching  footsteps. 

James  Steadman  was  dead.  Medicine  could  do  nothing  for 
that  lifeless  clay,  lying  on  the  hearth  by  which  he  had  sat  on  so 
many  winter  nights,  for  so  many  years  of  faithful,  unquestioning 
service.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  for  that  stiffening  form, 
save  the  last  offices  for  the  dead,  and  Lord  Hartfield  left  Mr. 
Horton  to  arrange  with  the  weeping  woman  as  to  the  doing  of 
these.  He  was  anxious  to  go  to  Lady  Maulevrier,  to  break  to 
her,  as  gently  as  might  be,  the  news  of  her  servant's  death. 

And  what  of  that  strange  old  man  in  the  upper  rooms  ?  Who 
was  to  attend  upon  him  now  that  the  caretaker  was  laid  low.^ 

While  Lord  Hartfield  lingered  on  the  threshold  of  the  door 

20 


402 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


that  led  from  the  old  house  to  the  new,  pondering  this  question, 
there  came  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  carriage-drive,  and  then 
a  loud  ring  at  the  hall  door. 

It  was  Maulevrier,  just  arrived  from  Scotland,  smelling  of 
autumn  rain  and  cool  fresh  air. 

"  Dreadfully  bored  on  the  moors,"  he  said,  as  they  shook 
hands.  "  No  birds — nobody  to  talk  to — couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer.  How  are  the  sisters  ?  Lesbia  better  ?  Why,  man  alive, 
how  queer  you  look !     Nothing  amiss,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  much  amiss.     Steadman  is  dead  !  " 

"  Steadman  ?  Her  Ladyship's  right  hand.  That's  rather  bad. 
Sut  you  will  drop  into  his  stewardship.  She'll  trust  your  long 
head,  I  know.  Much  better  that  she  should  look  to  her  grand- 
daughter's husband  for  advice  in  all  business  matters  than  to  a 
servant.     When  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Half  an  hour  ago.  I  was  just  going  to  Lady  Maulevrier's 
room  when  you  rang  the  bell.  Take  oft  your  Inverness  and 
come  with  me." 

"  The  poor  grandmother  !  "  muttered  Maulevrier.  "  I'm  afraid 
it  will  be  a  blow." 

He  had  much  less  cause  for  fear  than  Lord  Hartfield,  who 
knew  of  deep  and  secret  reasons  why  Steadman's  death  should 
be  a  calamity  of  dire  import  for  his  mistress.  Maulevrier  had 
been  told  nothing  of  that  scene  v/ith  the  strange  old  man — the 
hidden  treasures — the  Anglo-Indian  phrases — which  had  filled 
Lord  Hartfield's  mind  with  the  darkest  doubts. 

If  that  half-lunatic  old  man,  described  by  Lady  Maulevrier  as 
a  kinsman  of  Steadman's,  were  verily  the  person  Lord  Hartfield 
believed,  his  presence  under  that  roof,  unguarded  by  a  trust- 
worthy attendant,  was  fraught  with  danger.  It  would  be  for 
Lady  Maulevrier,  helpless,  a  prisoner  to  her  sofa,  at  death's 
door,  to  face  that  danger.  The  very  thought  of  it  might  kill 
her.  And  yet  it  was  imperative  that  the  truth  should  be  told 
her  without  delay. 

The  two  young  men  went  to  her  Ladyship's  sitting-room.  She 
was  alone,  a  volume  of  her  favorite  Schopenhauer  open  before 
her,  under  the  light  of  the  shaded  reading  lamp.  Sorry  comfort 
in  the  hour  of  trouble. 

Maulevrier  went  over  to  her  and  kissed  her,  and  then  dropped 
silently  into  a  chair  near  at  hand,  his  face  in  shadow.  Hart- 
field seated  himself  nearer  the  sofa,  and  nearer  the  lamp. 

"  Dear  Lady  Maulevrier,  I  have  come  to  tell  you  some  very 
bad  news — " 

"  Lesbia  ? "  exclaimed  her  Ladyship,  with  a  frightened  look. 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  403 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  Lesbia.  It  is  about  your 
old  servant,  Steadman.'' 

"  Dead  ? "  fahered  Lady  Maulevrier,  ashy  pale,  as  she  looked 
at  him  in  the  lamplight. 

He  bent  his  head  affirmatively. 

"  Yes.  He  was  seized  with  apoplexy — fell  from  his  chair  to 
the  hearrti  and  never  spoke  or  stirred  again," 

Lady  Maulevrier  uttered  no  word  of  sorrow  or  surprise.  She 
lav,  looking  straight  before  her  into  vacancy,  the  pale  attenuated 
features  rigid  as  if  they  had  been  marble.  What  was  to  be 
done — what  must  be  told — whom  could  she  trust  ?  Those  were 
the  questions  repeating  themselves  in  her  mind  as  she  stared 
into  space.     And  no  answer  came  to  them. 

No  answer  came  except  the  opening  of  a  door  opposite  her 
couch.  The  handle  turned  slowly,  hesitatingly,  as  if  moved  by 
a  feeble  hand ;  and  then  the  door  was  pushed  slowly  open  and 
an  old  man  came  with  shuffling  footsteps  toward  the  one  lighted 
spot  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

It  was  the  old  man  Lord  Hartfield  had  last  seen  gloating  over 
his  treasure  of  gold  and  jewels,  the  man  whom  Maulevrier  had 
never  seen,  whose  existence  for  forty  years  had  been  hidden 
from  every  creature  in  that  house,  except  Lady  Maulevrier  and 
the  Steadmans,  until  Mary  found  her  way  into  the  old  gar- 
den. 

He  came  close  up  to  the  little  table  in  front  of  Lady  Maule- 
vrier's  couch  and  looked  down  at  her,  a  strange,  uncanny  being, 
withered  and  bent,  with  pale,  faded  eyes,  in  which  there  was  a 
glimmer  of  unholy  light. 

"  Good-evening  to  you.  Lady  Maulevrier,"  he  said,  in  a  mock- 
ing voice.  "  I  shouldn't  have  known  you  if  we  had  met  any- 
where else.  I  think  of  the  two  of  us  you  are  more  changed 
than  I." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  features  quivering,  her  haughty 
head  drawn  back— as  a  bird  shrinks  from  the  gaze  of  a  snake, 
recoiling,  but  too  fascinated  to  fly.  Her  eyes  met  his  with  a 
look  of  unutterable  horror.  For  some  moments  she  was  speech- 
less, and  then,  looking  at  Lord  Hartfield,  she  said,  piteously : 

"  Why  did  you  let  him  come  here  ?  He  ought  to  be  taken 
care  of — shut  up.  It  is  Steadman's  old  uncle — a  lunatic — whoni 
I  sheltered.     Why  is  he  allowed  to  come  to  my  room  ? " 

"  1  am  Lord  Maulevrier,"  said  the  old  man,  drawing  himself 
UD  and  planting  his  crutch  stick  upon  the  floor.  "  I  am  Lord 
Maulevrier,  and  this  woman  is  my  wife.  Yes,  I  am  mad  some- 
times, but  not  always.     I  have  my  bad  fits,  but  not  often.     But 


404 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 


I  never  forget  who  and  what  I  am  ;  Algernon,  Earl  of  Maulevrier, 
Governor  of  Madras." 

"  Lady  Maulevrier,  is  this  horrible  thing  true  ? "  cried  her 
grandson,  vehemently. 

"  He  is  mad,  Maulevrier.  Don't  you  see  that  he  is  mad  ?  " 
she  exclaimed,  looking  from  Hartfield  to  her  grandson,  and  then 
with  a  look  of  loathing  and  horror  at  her  accuser. 

"  I  tell  you,  young  man,  I  am  Maulevrier,"  said  the  accuser, 
"  there  is  no  one  else  who  has  a  right  to  be  called  by  that  name, 
while  I  live.  They  have  shut  me  up — she  and  her  accomplice — 
denied  my  name — hidden  me  from  the  world.  He  is  dead,  and 
she  lies  there — stricken  for  her  sins." 

*'  My  grandfather  died  at  the  inn  at  Great  Langdale,"  faltered 
Maulevrier. 

"  Your  grandfather  was  brought  to  this  house — ill — out  of  his 
wits.  All  cloud  and  darkness  here,"  said  the  old  man,  touching 
his  forehead.  "  How  long  has  it  been  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  A 
weary  time — long,  dark  nights,  full  of  ghosts.  Yes,  I  have  seen 
him — the  Rajah,  that  copper-faced  scoundrel,  seen  him  as  she 
told  me  he  looked  when  she  gave  the  signal  to  her  slaves  to 
strangle  him,  there  in  the  hall,  where  the  grave  was  dug  ready 
for  the  traitor's  carcass.  She  too — yes,  she  has  haunted  me, 
calling  upon  me  to  give  up  her  treasure,  to  restore  her  son." 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  paralytic  woman,  suddenly  lifted  out  of  her- 
self, as  it  were,  in  a  paroxysm  of  fury,  every  feature  convulsed, 
every  nerve  strained  to  its  utmost  tension,  "  yes,  this  is  Lord 
Maulevrier.  You  have  heard  the  truth,  and  from  his  own  lips. 
You,  his  only  son's  only  son.  You  hear  him  avow  himself  the 
instigator  of  a  diabolical  murder ;  you  hear  him  confess  how  his 
paramour's  husband  was  strangled  at  his  false  wife's  bidding,  in 
his  own  palace,  buried  under  the  Moorish  pavement  in  the  hall 
of  many  arches.  You  hear  how  he  inherited  the  Rajah's  treas- 
ures from  a  mistress  who  died  strangely,  swiftly,  conveniently, 
so  soon  as  he  had  wearied  of  her  and  a  new  favorite  had  begun 
to  exercise  her  influence.  Such  things  are  done  in  the  East — 
dynasties  annihilated,  kingdoms  overthrown,  poison  or  bowstring 
used  at  will  to  gratify  a  profligate's  passion,  or  pay  for  a  spend- 
thrift's extravagances.-  Such  things  were  done  when  that  man 
was  Governor  of  Madras  as  were  never  done  by  an  Englishman 
in  India  before  his  time.  He  went  there  fettered  by  no  preju- 
dices— he  was  more  Mussulman  than  the  Mussulmans  themselves 
— a  deeper,  darker  traitor.  And  it  was  to  hide  crimes  such  as 
these — to  interpose  the  great  peacemaker  death  between  him 
and  the  government  which  was  resolved  upon  punishing  him-— 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  405 

to  save  the  honor,  the  fortune  of  my  son,  and  the  children  who 
were  to  come  after  him,  the  name  of  a  noble  race,  a  name  that 
was  ever  stainless  until  he  defiled  it — it  was  for  this  great  end  I 
took  steps  to  hide  that  feeble,  useless  life  of  his  from  the  world 
he  had  offended.  I  screened  him  from  his  enemies — I  saved 
him  from  the  ignominy  of  public  trial — from  the  execration  of 
his  countrymen.  His  only  punishment  was  to  eat  his  heart  un- 
der this  roof  in  luxurious  seclusion,  his  comfort  studied,  his 
whims  gratified  so  far  as  they  could  be  by  the  most  faithful  of 
servants.  A  light  penance  for  the  dark  infamies  of  his  life  in 
India,  I  think.  His  mind  was  all  but  gone  when  he  came  here, 
but  he  had  his  rational  intervals,  and  in  these  the  burden  of  his 
lonely  life  may  have  weighed  heavily  upon  him,  but  it  was  not 
such  a  heavy  burden  as  I  have  borne — I,  his  jailer,  I  who  have  de- 
voted my  existence  to  the  one  task  of  guarding  the  family  honor." 

He,  whom  she  thus  acknowledged  as  her  husband,  had  sunk 
exhausted  into  a  chair  near  her.  He  took  out  his  gold  snuff-box 
and  refreshed  himself  with  a  leisurely  pinch  of  snuff,  looking 
about  him  all  the  while  with  a  senile  grin.  That  flash  of  passion 
which  for  a  few  minutes  had  restored  him  to  the  full  possession 
of  his  reason  had  burnt  itself  out,  and  his  mind  had  relapsed 
into  the  condition  in  which  it  had  been  when  he  talked  to  Mary 
in  the  garden. 

"  My  pipe,  Steadman,"  he  said,  looking  toward  the  door, 
"  bring  me  my  pipe  ;  "  and  then,  impatiently,  "  What  has  become 
of  Steadman }  He  has  been  getting  inattentive — very  inatten- 
tive." 

He  got  up  and  moved  slowly  to  the  door,  leaning  on  his  crutch 
stick,  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast,  muttering  to  himself  as  he 
went ;  and  thus  he  vanished  from  them  like  the  specter  of  some 
terrible  ancestor  which  had  returned  from  the  grave  to  announce 
the  coming  of  a  calamity  to  a  doomed  race.  His  grandson 
looked  after  him  with  an  expression  of  intense  displeasure. 

"  And  so.  Lady  Maulevrier,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  his 
grandmother,  "  I  have  borne  a  title  that  never  belonged  to  me, 
and  enjoyed  the  possession  of  another  man's  estates  all  this  time, 
thanks  to  your  pretty  little  plot.  A  very  respectable  position 
for  your  grandson  to  occupy,  upon  my  life." 

Lord  Hartfield  lifted  his  hand  with  a  warning  gesture. 

"  Spare  her,"  he  said.  "  She  is  in  no  condition  to  endure 
your  reproaches." 

Spare  her — yes.  Fate  had  not  spared  her.  The  beautiful 
face — beautiful  even  in  age  and  decay — changed  suddenly  as 
she  looked  at  them — the  mouth  became  distorted,  the  eyes  fixed ; 


4o6  PHANTOM  FORTUNE. 

and  then  the  heavy  head  fell  back  upon  the  pillow — the  paral- 
yzed form,  wholly  paralyzed  now,  lay  like  a  thing  of  stone.  It 
never  moved  again.  Consciousness  was  blotted  out  forever  in 
that  moment.  The  feeble  pulses  of  heart  and  brain  throbbed 
with  gradually  diminishing  power  for  a  night  and  a  day;  and  in 
the  twilight  of  that  dreadful  day  of  nothingness  the  last  glimmer 
of  the  light  died  in  the  lamp,  and  Lady  Maulevrier  and  the  bur 
den  of  her  sin  were  beyond  the  veil. 

Viscount  Haselden,  alias  Lord  Maulevrier,  held  a  long  con- 
sultation with  Lord  Hartfield  on  the  night  of  his  grandmother's 
death,  as  to  what  steps  ought  to  be  taken  in  relation  to  the  real 
Earl  of  Maulevrier,  and  it  was  only  at  the  end  of  a  serious  and 
earnest  disscussion  that  both  young  men  came  to  the  decision 
that  Lady  Maulevrier's  secret  ought  to  be  kept  faithfully  to  the 
end.  Assuredly  no  good  purpose  could  be  achieved  by  letting 
the  world  know  old  Lord  Maulevrier's  existence.  A  half-lunatic 
octogenarian  could  gain  nothmg  by  being  restored  to  rights 
and  possessions  which  he''  had  most  justly  forfeited.  All  that 
justice  demanded  was  that  the  closing  years  of  his  life  should  be 
made  as  comfortable  as  care  and  wealth  could  make  them ;  and 
Hartfield  and  Haselden  took  immediate  steps  to  this  end.  But 
their  first  act  was  to  send  the  old  Earl's  treasure  chest,  under 
safe  convoy,  to  the  India  House,  with  a  letter  explaining  how 
this  long  hidden  wealth,  brought  from  India  by  Lord  Maulevrier, 
had  been  discovered  among  other  effects  in  a  lumber  room  at 
Lady  Maulevrier's  country  house.  The  money  so  delivered  up 
might  possibly  have  formed  part  of  his  Lordship's  private  fort- 
une ;  but,  in  the  absence  of  any  knowledge  as  to  its  origin,  his 
grandson,  the  present  Lord  Maulevrier,  preferred  to  deliver  it 
up  to  the  authorities  of  the  India  House,  to  be  dealt  with  as 
they  might  think  fit. 

The  old  Earl  made  no  further  attempt  to  assert  himself.  He 
seemed  content  to  remain  in  his  own  rooms  as  of  old,  to  potter 
about  the  garden,  where  his  solitude  was  as  complete  as  that  of 
a  hermit's  cell.  The  only  moan  he  made  was  for  James  Stead- 
man,  whose  services  he  missed  sorely.  Lord  Hartfield  replaced 
that  devoted  servant  by  a  clever  Austrian  valet,  a  new  importa- 
tion from  Vienna,  who  understood  very  little  English,  a  trained 
attendant  upon  mental  invalids,  and  who  was  quite  capable  of 
dealing  with  old  Lord  Maulevrier. 

Lord  Hartfield  went  a  step  farther,  and  within  a  week  of  those 
two  funerals  of  servant  and  mistress,  which  cast  a  gloom  over 
the  peaceful  valley  of  Grasmere,  he  brought  down  a  famous  mad- 
doctor  to  diagnose  his  Lordship's  case.     There  was  but  little  risk 


PHANTOM  FORTUNE.  407 

in  so  doing,  he  argued  with  his  friend,  and  it  was  their  duty  so 
to  do.  If  the  old  man  should  assert  himself  to  the  doctor  as 
Lord  Maulevrier  the  declaration  would  pass  as  a  symptom  of  his 
lunacy.  But  it  happened  that  the  physician  arrived  at  Fellside 
on  one  of  Lord  Maulevrier's  bad  days,  and  the  patient  never 
emerged  from  the  feeblest  phase  of  imbecility. 

"  Brain  quite  gone,"  pronounced  the  doctor ;  "  bodily  health 
ver}'-  poor.  Take  him  to  the  south  of  France  for  the  Winter — 
Hyeres,  or  any  quiet  place.     He  can't  last  long." 

To  Hyeres  the  old  man  was  taken,  with  Mrs.  Steadman  as 
nurse  and  the  Austrian  valet  as  body  servant  and  keeper.  Mary, 
for  whom  in  his  brighter  hours  he  showed  a  warm  affection,  went 
with  him,  under  her  husband's  wing. 

Lord  Hartfield  rented  a  chateau  on  the  slope  of  an  olive-clad 
hill,  where  he  and  his  young  wife,  whose  health  was  somewhat 
delicate  at  this  time,  spent  a  Winter  in  peaceful  seclusion,  while 
Lesbia  and  her  brother  traveled  together  in  Italy.  The  old 
man's  strength  improved  in  that  lovely  climate.  He  lived  to  see 
the  roses  and  orange  blossoms  of  the  early  Spring  and  died  in 
his  arm-chair  suddenly,  without  a  pang,  while  Mary  sat  at  his 
feet  reading  to  him — a  quiet  end  of  an  evil  and  troubled  life. 
And  now  he  whom  the  world  had  known  as  Lord  Maulevrier 
was  verily  the  earl  and  could  hear  himself  called  by  his  title 
once  more  without  a  touch  of  shame. 

The  secret  of  Lady  Maulevrier's  sin  had  been  so  faithfully 
kept  by  the  two  young  men  that  neither  of  her  granddaughters 
knew  the  true  story  of  that  mysterious  person  whom  Mary  had 
first  heard  of  as  James  Steadman's  uncle.  She  and  Lesbia  both 
knew  that  there  were  painful  circumstances  of  some  kind  con- 
nected with  this  man's  existence,  his  hidden  life  in  the  old  house 
at  Fellside  ;  but  they  were  both  content  to  learn  no  more.  Re- 
spect for  their  grandmother's  memory,  sorrowful  affection  for 
the  dead  prevailed  over  natural  curiosity. 

Early  in  February  Maulevrier  sent  decorators  and  upholster- 
ers into  the  old  house  in  Curzon  Street,  which  was  ready  before 
the  middle  of  May  to  receive  his  Lordship  and  his  young  wife, 
the  girlish  daughter  of  a  grand  old  Florentine  family,  a  gazelle- 
eyed  Italian,  with  a  voice  whose  every  tone  was  music,  and  with 
the  gentlest,  shyest,  most  engaging  manners  of  any  girl  in  Flor- 
ence. Lady  Lesbia,  strangely  subdued  and  changed  by  the 
griefs  and  humiliations  of  her  last  campaign,  had  been  her  broth- 
er's counselor  and  confidante  throughout  his  wooing  ot  his  fair 
Italian  bride.  She  was  to  spend  the  season  under  her  brother's 
roof,  to  help  to  initiate  young  Lady  Maulevrier  in  the  mysterious 


4o8  PHANTOM  FORTUNE, 

rites  of  London  society,  and  to  warn  her  of  those  rocks  and  shoals 
which  had  wrecked  her  own  fortunes. 

The  month  of  May  brought  a  son  and  heir  to  Lord  Hartfield ; 
and  it  was  not  till  after  his  birth  that  Mary,  Countess  of  Hart- 
field,  was  presented  to  her  sovereign  and  began  her  career  as  a 
matron  of  rank  and  standing,  very  much  overpowered  by  the 
weight  of  her  honors,  and  looking  forward  with  delight  to  the 
end  of  the  season  and  a  flight  to  Argyleshire  with  her  husband 
and  baby. 


THE  END. 


